Demon Team: Demon, Angel & Devils
by WyrdSmith
Summary: Battle-weary and heartsore, Harry Potter and his surprising family discover that a shocking consequence in their victory leads them to a whole new world and a glorious love.
1. Chapter 1

AUTHORS' NOTES:

This is the new and improved version of the co-authored story "Demon, Angel and Devils" by Pikachumomma and WyrdSmith. The original version was posted under Pikachumomma's name, as it was her creation and I, WyrdSmith, was just a creative consultant for Chapter 1. After that, I couldn't help but get involved, because I truly adored the plot Pikachumomma presented. How could I not? So, the original two chapters (of which I only co-wrote #2) are on her page, and the new, fully co-authored version is here. Even if you read the original, please start over; the whole of Chapter one is redone and there's a brand-new Chapter three with this posting. (01/19/12)

Let us know what you think. And I want to thank Pikachumomma, again, for drawing me into the story and for being so wonderfully welcoming and encouraging as I started to write my first stories. She's a neat lady, folks, and she tells a damn fine story.

Happy Reading!

WyrdSmith


	2. Chapter 1 of Story

PROLOGUE

Once upon a time, there was a sad and lonely young boy who yearned for someone of his very own; someone who would protect him from the cruelty of his "family"; who would stop the bullying and neglect that permeated every corner of his life; who would comfort him in the stale darkness of his cupboard under the stairs; who would put him first; and maybe even, as the little boy dared to whisper in the quietest and most secret part of his mind, someone who would actually love him.

Over the years as the little boy grew up, he had new experiences, went new places, met new people, and he learned a very hard lesson from it all. He learned that he didn't matter. To most of the people he met, the boy was never really there. To some, he was a hero (or a villain) – "The Boy Who Lived". To some, he was a symbol of hope (or of hate) – "The Golden Gryffindor." Others saw him as a tool, a weapon, a means to fame and fortune, a clone of his father, a fairy-tale prince, a liar, a lunatic, an arrogant dunderhead, a pampered prince, a sacrifice…. Oh, he had many, many roles and titles. In the end, of the hundreds of people he knew and the thousands who knew of him, only three ever really saw and treasured HIM. These three called him brother. They also called him Demon.

They were right on both counts.

CHAPTER ONE

His name was Harry. His story, for the most part, is well known in the wizarding world, and there is little need to revisit the details. No, this is the story of what is not common knowledge about the Demon Team – otherwise known as Harry Potter and his true family.

By his third year at Hogwarts, Harry was already jaded and nearly hopeless. He had been emotionally buffeted by everyone, from his cruel and unloving guardians to the fickle people of the wizarding world. He was used and abused by those who manipulated him to be their savior, their financier, their ticket to fame and fortune. He was left empty-hearted, his own desperate hope for any type of genuine love or fidelity crushed beyond repair, leaving him only with a sense of duty and a need to end the war and disappear.

The changes in him did not go unnoticed. Many saw his lively, bright green eyes grow cold and distant. His manner changed from wistful eagerness to calculating control. He stopped worrying about what his false friends thought of him, and was unconcerned when they transferred their worthless allegiances to another boy, one who was clumsy but more malleable. His only real concern at the abandonment was to feel a vague pity for the "new savior", because now the befuddled boy would be subjected to the mercurial rages and monumental selfishness of the redheaded git, the shrewish distemper of the bushy-haired know-it-all, and the avid lust and greed of the git's sluttish, love potion-using, stalker sister.

Harry Potter discarded all of his useless titles, and became, very simply, a warrior. He researched and trained extensively, disregarding what was "Light" or "Dark" in favor of what worked. He studied all available methods of offense and defense, magical and non-magical, and had an encyclopedic knowledge of curses, charms, creatures, transfigurations, potions and many of the more obscure magical arts. He trained his body to become a perfect storehouse and extension of his magic. He became lethal with many types of martial arts and weapons fighting. And he did it all with cold precision.

He began to evolve, shedding Harry Potter and becoming something else. No one dared to mistreat the person he became. His teachers respected him, his former supporters avoided him, and the students feared him. His former mentor, one Albus Dumbledore, tried to manipulate him into becoming again his tool and sacrifice "for the Greater Good." Dumbledore's fury at Harry's "betrayal" was disguised as deep, public disappointment in the boy's "darkness" and "loss of conscience." When his faux-grandfatherly sorrow generated nothing from Harry but obvious contempt, he turned his efforts toward crafting the "new savior" and left Harry to fail without his great wisdom and experience. Harry was unaffected.

Of all the people who knew him, only three earned his respect, loyalty and love. They did so by showing him the same. Their faith in him was such that they were unafraid of his power, because they knew his heart. They grieved for the loss of his hope, and worked together to reclaim at least some of the pieces of his broken heart and forge them into something stronger and better. He was their raven-haired Demon. They were his red-headed twin Devils, and his serene white-blond Angel. They belonged to each other; family – finally.

Before his Devils and Angel, he was still, essentially, Harry Potter. But Harry Potter was a boy with no one to love him and who had no one to love. When Harry accepted the three as his siblings, he evolved from the boy-warrior and became 'Demon', because that is how he guarded them - like a fierce, unstoppable demon. He was deeply protective of them, and they of him.

The wizarding world would identify his devils as the prankster menaces of the Weasley family, twins Fred and George. Most of the Weasleys, including the git and the stalker, abandoned Harry, following the duplicitous Headmaster like sycophantic drones and taking up the banner of the supposed 'new Savior'. When the Weasley family disowned Fred and George for siding with him, he blood-adopted the twins and the Devils were born. He then tore into their former family, savagely stripping them of everything they owned, ruining their reputations individually and as a family. He listed the numerous boys and grown men who had lain with the supposedly pure Ginny, identified the numerous examples of lawbreaking partaken of by Arthur Weasley (tax evasion, black market sales of enchanted muggle artifacts, and providing access to restricted Ministry of Magic offices and departments for members of the Order of the Phoenix vigilante group), Molly Weasley (illegal manufacture, sale and use of love potions and other compulsion and mood-altering potions), Percy Weasley (political bribes, blackmail, and solicitation of political favors), Bill Weasley (use of Gringott's resources to gain access to warded homes on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix vigilante group), and Charlie Weasley (putting illegal calming and lust-suppression potions provided by Molly Weasley into the food of the dragons in his care). He exposed unpalatable truths about their financial dealings as Dumbledore's second line of control over the Boy-who-Lived, published the actual (and thoroughly shameful) reason for their feud with the Malfoys, and took great joy in ensuring they had no remaining dignity or pride. His ferocity as he forced the Weasley clan into pauperhood earned him the interest and respect of the Gringott's goblins; they would have taken the exact same actions had their own clan been harmed in such a manner. This was no Golden Boy, nor was he anyone's poster boy for the Greater Good. This was a warrior, a clan chieftain – a Demon. His retaliation was fierce and unrelenting, and he was only satisfied when the Weasleys had nothing left but their status as the laughing stock of the wizarding world.

If asked, the wizarding world would jeeringly identify Luna "Loony" Lovegood as his Angel. Demon blood-adopted the fey young woman when her father and the professors at Hogwarts failed to protect her from the increasingly vicious bullying of her fellow students, particularly those of her own House. The Demon rampaged the day he saw his Angel break down and cry from the unrelenting taunting. He identified each of her attackers, and then carefully and thoroughly exposed, through newspapers both magical and muggle, the dark secrets of each perpetrator and their families. This time he chose anonymity, actually employing certain goblins as investigators, and with their maliciously delighted cooperation, completely humiliated those who had harmed Angel. None of it could be linked back to him but there was little doubt anywhere that this was Demon's vengeance.

And through it all, Demon trained. He included his devils and angels, because he was fierce in his protection of them and they, in turn, were ferocious in their protection of him and each other. Together, they became a deadly force indeed – The Demon Team. Although he did not push them at the deadly pace he had set for himself, they further proved their dedication and devotion when they trained with him step by step. All four learned all types of weapons but they each had one specialty. They learned all the magic they could, disregarding the "shades" of magic in favor of knowledge, power and usefulness. They learned how to kill, and how to heal, and all that fell between. They researched avidly, and discovered (and appropriated) the extensive libraries of each of the Founders of Hogwarts. They brewed and ingested potions and performed rituals that enabled them to read, absorb, understand and perform all types of learning at a vastly accelerated rate. And always, they searched for an answer to the end of the war. So when they finally stumbled across an ancient ritual that would grant them a way to destroy the two fanatical leaders, they chose to use it. They knew there would probably be repercussions of some sort, but willfully chose to overlook the possibilities. Regardless of the personal cost, whatever it may be, the end result would be worth it.

ooooooooooooooooo

On the day of the Final Battle, in the disorganized midst of hundreds upon hundreds of bloodied, filthy, furious wizards, four shockingly distinctive people suddenly appeared. Standing in crisp formation amongst the chaos, their distinctive battle gear and authoritative stance stood out clearly against a sea of multi-colored robes with phoenix pins, red auror robes, and black robes with white masks. Despite the moniker of the Dark Lord's people, these four actually looked like Death come to call.

The apparent leader was a tall, black-haired man with jade green eyes. He stood at the front of the formation, dressed in intimidating, formfitting black battle robes with silver wings stretched across the back, holding a long sword which housed his wand, lethally combining both magic and force. Standing to his right were two towering men with fiery red hair that spiked with black tips. They wore the same battle robes as the first, although their wings were blood red. Their wands were secreted within the heavy battle axes they each held with misleading ease. Standing to the left of the raven-haired leader was a woman only slightly shorter than he, with long white-blond hair pulled back into a braid. Her battle robes were a gleaming white, with black wings sweeping across the back. She held with practiced grace two short swords, of which the right one held her wand.

The surrounding action of the war slowed and stopped as participants from both sides took notice and began to stare at the four new arrivals. Their sheer power and presence drew the attention of more and more wizards and witches, and word spread across the battlefield like fiendfyre: the Demon's team was here! Observers were reluctantly impressed as, at an indiscernible signal from Demon, the further redheaded Devil moved smoothly to stand back to back with Demon as the second Devil and Angel stepped back and faced out. Just that quickly, they formed a marching diamond and began a deadly rain of spellfire, relentlessly slaughtering all opponents without discretion or mercy. They moved flawlessly and with practiced ease, never pausing or breaking formation. The Demon team effortlessly made their way across the field to the end where the two leaders of the war were fighting, although it seemed to have devolved into a contest of name calling and trading insults while their followers murdered each other around them. By this point, most of the surviving fighters had moved away or retreated altogether, preferring distance to death-by-Demon team. As the marching diamond halted, it reformed, and the Devils and Angel began to chant. Demon remained motionless, building and focusing power as his siblings conducted the ritual through chant, gestures and complicated wand patterns.

The two leaders, Light and Dark, gaped speechlessly as an eerie green glow began to pulse from Demon. Entranced by the color, which reminded them both of the Avada Kedavra curse and Demon's eyes, they had no time to react when the chanting stopped on a sudden, sharp syllable and Demon raised his sword. With two, powerful strokes, one aged head with flowing white beard and one snakelike head with blood red eyes fell to the mud and rolled to the side. The decapitated bodies remained briefly upright before falling as well, blood splattering the ground like countless other before them.

Lowering his sword, Demon turned around and looked to the right at his devils smiling roguishly with a mock salute towards him. He looked to the left at his angel smiling serenely, as if the world was once again a bright place. With a small smile for his family, he nodded and the four of them disappeared, never to be seen in the wizarding world again.

In retrospect, maybe they should have researched the Avenging Angel Ritual just a little more closely.

oooooooooooooooooooo

ONE WEEK LATER….

Harry James Potter sat comfortably drinking tea, legs crossed and resting on the kitchen table in front of him, watching his devils argue pointlessly over which anime was better, 'Devil May Cry' or 'InuYasha'.

"I'm telling you, Forge, Dante is way cooler. Have you seen his blade? It almost looks like Harry's," George sputtered.

"True, my beloved Gred, but Sesshomaru's and InuYasha's swords are just as amazing, if not cooler, since they have added powers," Fred argue back emphatically.

Smiling fondly, Harry recalled when these two devils first became HIS devils.

_He had been walking down the hallway in his fourth year when he came across the Weasley twins. He had met them before, of course, but his git ex-friend Ronald would always be jealous if Harry paid more attention to anyone else, especially any of his brothers. As of the beginning of last year, Ronald and he were no longer friends. Apparently the wanna-be hero couldn't take the pressure of his sister nearly being killed (due to her own stupidity and saved by Harry) and an innocent murderer after him (due to his own hot temper – and stupidity - and saved by Harry). Harry was infinitely better off without him. In any event, he had come across the twins wearing long, gray beards, right after they had tried to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament. They were yelling and fighting with each other, when Harry stepped up between them and firmly said, "Enough!"_

_The two stopped immediately, looking at Harry as if they had never seen him before that moment. _

"_Laxo quis venio," Harry intoned, directing his wand in widdershins spiral at them._

_Within seconds, the Twins were back to their normal appearance. Harry gestured for them to look at each other and, when they did, they were amazed._

"_Fred! You're back to normal, ugly self!" George teased._

"_Who are you calling ugly, oh mirror-image of mine?" Fred said threateningly, shaking a fist._

_Harry cracked his first smile that year and left them still smiling. Fred and George had seen the smile and vowed to make sure that they made Harry smile at least once a day. Thus, a tentative friendship was born. It wasn't until the night after Harry's name was pulled out of the cup, however, that Harry began to see them as family._

_After a full day of stoically withstanding being ridiculed and belittled, Harry had enough and sought refuge in the owlery. It also happened to be at the same time Fred and George were owling something to Gringotts Bank._

"_Hey Gred! It's Harry!" Fred elbowed George, pointing to the newest arrival._

"_Why, yes indeedy, Forge, it IS Harry," George confirmed, "So, Harry, what brings you up here? Something foul, or something fowl?"_

_Harry had been scratching Hedwig's crest while lost in thought, and hadn't seen the two, otherwise, he would have turned around and left before they spotted him. So when George questioned him, he was somewhat startled. Looking between the two smiling brothers, Harry just snorted and turned on his heel to start his descent back to the castle._

"_Whoa!" Fred called out, grabbing Harry's arm._

"_Come back here, young one!" George said, reaching for Harry's other arm._

"_Let go! I didn't come here to be laughed at!" Harry snapped out._

"_Who said anything about laughing at you?" George asked, carefully tightening his grip._

"_Yeah, we're your friends; we want to see you laugh with us- or at least AT us! That works, too!" Fred supplied, stepping closer._

"_Friends? Friends! Right. Because friendship has worked out so well for me so far. I've had friends before – you may have met one or two, growing up in the same house and all - and all they do is betray you," Harry growled out menacingly. Both the redheads winced and grimaced sympathetically. Yes, they knew the jealous git to whom he was referring. As for the psychotic slut of the family, there just was nothing more to say about her._

"_Ahh, my dear Harry, they were not real friends. I rather doubt you've ever had a real friend, apart from this beautiful little lady, that is," George said, gesturing to a preening Hedwig." Friends stick by you no matter what, they are your chosen family. Much better than the kind you're stuck with at birth!" _

"_Real friends should be there for you when you are high or low, and offer comfort when needed…," Fred added._

"…_and they support you no matter what," George finished._

_Harry stared at them before replying wistfully, "That does sound like how a real family should be. It sounds so … nice." He dropped his eyes and stared at the feather-strewn floor of the Owlery. _

"_Then let the two of us be your family and lean on us. We would never betray you."_

"_Nor hurt you."_

"_What do you want in return?" Harry asked, eyeing them both with a calculating stare._

"_Nothing…," George started to say._

"_No one does anything for free," Harry coldly interrupted._

"_Tut, tut, little brother, you should have let me finish," George responded, flicking Harry on the nose, "We want nothing besides you being our brother and letting us lean on you when we need it as well."_

_Harry studied them both carefully, trying to figure out if he should accept it. He was so tired of risking his feelings for people who failed him. It wasn't like he was asking for another person's fortune or fame, like Ron. And he didn't want to feel superior to them, like Hermione. And he sure as hell didn't want to get involved with anyone who wanted to be Lady Boy-who-Lived! He just wanted someone genuine to care for, someone to care for him. The twins sounded sincere. They stood looking at him earnestly. And he did find them very likable people. He wanted them as his family. There was something deep within his soul calling out for them; telling him to let them have a chance. _

_With a sigh, Harry answered them, "….fine. We'll try."_

_Fred and George whooped and went to give their new brother a hug, when Harry stopped them, saying firmly, "But you listen to me now. This is not something to consider lightly. I mean it, you devils. You need to understand, if you are to be my real family, I will stop at nothing if either of you are hurt or injured. I'm not a particularly nice person anymore, you know. I can be downright demonic if I feel I need to be. Depending on how grievous the crime is, I will decide the punishment I see fit. I'm talking muggle Old Testament kind of stuff; eye for an eye, blood for blood, payback and then some. If your brother Ronald cuts you, I will cut him back tenfold. Can you live with that?"_

_Fred and George looked between themselves and grinned devilishly before looking back at Harry. Fred answered with dark glee, "Harry, brother dear, we are completely fine with that; you just very succinctly expressed our own outlook on loyalty. As a matter of fact we have been playing pranks of a not-so-nice nature on ickle Ronniekins since last year for abandoning you. We've tortured him something awful!"_

"_We just wish that we would have met you seriously before Ron got his best-friend-to-the-hero hooks in you. When we helped you with your trunk that first day on the train, and realized who you were, we just didn't want to make you uncomfortable. We had told Ron to leave you alone, because we figured you were going to get enough of the "show me your scar" crap as it was. Naturally, he headed straight for you … git!" George added, as he and Fred gathered Harry into a hug._

"….ry? Harry? HARRY!"

Blinking, Harry's eyes focused as he brought his mind back into reality. He looked owlishly at his concerned devils, so thankful that he listened to his soul and heart-fragments that day.

"What?" Harry asked, taking a sip of his now cool tea. Shrugging, he wandlessly changed the cup to a glass and added some ice cubes. He had heard they drank tea that way in the Colonies.

"You were spacing on us…," Fred answered gently.

"…Are you alright?" George questioned.

Running a finger along the lip of his glass, Harry added sugar to his tea and answered, "Yes, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" The two asked together.

"Yes," Harry answered, rolling his eyes.

"Alright, so whose sword is better?" Fred asked.

Raising an eyebrow, Harry smirked wickedly. "Are you telling me you've finally discovered there is something different between you two? The size and shape of your…erm..'swords'?"

Fred's grin was slightly perverted as he sniggered at George's dropped jaw. "My, my, Georgie. Our little Harriekins is growing up."

George cracked an equally perverted grin. "Making with the dirty jokes like that," he said reprovingly. He faked a sob. "Our Harry's becoming a man!"

Rolling his eyes, Harry raised his glass in a mocking toast to their dramatic skills. "So, anime swords?"

"Dante's" George questioned without missing a beat

"Or InuYasha & Sesshomaru's?" Fred finished.

"Dante's." Harry answered flatly, standing up to place his empty glass in the sink. He mused that iced tea really wasn't bad, but it was a little like drinking failed hot tea.

"What? Why?" Fred cried.

"George nailed it on the head. I designed my sword after his sword," Harry answered, walking out of the kitchen and into the garden and smiling as the argument continued behind him.

Harry loved their garden. It was full of towering trees and had wonderful boulders of every color and shape for seating. Thick, tall hedges and shorter, flowering bushes surrounded the outside of it, creating a well-hidden place of beauty and relaxation. They had several different types of flowers and plants growing, and a variety of wild herbs as well. Professor Sprout would have been so proud. They kept it maintained, but let it grow wild. It was one of his favorite places to just lie on the soft grass and sleep, letting his worries fade away as the soft clouds crossed the deep blue sky.

Laying down in 'his' spot, Harry folded his hands behind his head and stared up at the drifting clouds, letting his thoughts drift as well.

"Come out, you humdinger! You can't hide forever!" Luna shouted, running in and out of the little groves of trees and even crawling under the bushes.

Harry looked lazily over at his angel and smiled fondly, remembering how Luna stole her way into his heart like the elusive creatures she was always trying to find.

It hadn't been like his devils where they had formally declared him family; nope, Luna's advent into his heart had been a subtle approach. It was also during fourth year that his angel began to say hello to him every time she saw him, which had been quite often. At first, Harry had just glanced at her, then he started to nod in reply to her greetings, and before long he was saying 'hello' back with a small smile. Harry began to notice Luna more, and started to enjoy cataloguing all of her little quirks. Eventually, he had started to look upon her as a true friend. He couldn't even point to a particular day or time or event and, "That was it! That was the day I saw Luna as one of my own." It wasn't until after the second task that Harry realized just how deep Luna had wormed his way into his heart.

_Harry had been eating dinner with his devils. Glancing up at a sudden commotion, he watched with a frown as a distressed Luna ran out of the Great Hall. Standing, Harry told his devils that he would be right back. Walking briskly out of the hall, Harry took off in a run after Luna, following her all the way out to the lake. When he finally caught up with her, she was staring up at the moon with tears running down her cheeks. Harry had to stop and simply gaze for a moment. Luna looked ethereal with the moonlight shining down on her pale blond hair, blue eyes appearing translucent in the oddness of the moment. Shaking his head, Harry walked over to sad little blond and sat down beside her. He gently pulled her into a side hug, offering comfort and companionable silence. They didn't say anything for the longest time. They simply sat together, Luna letting her tears run their course and Harry offering his silent comfort. When her tears were dried and she didn't need his support anymore, Harry stood up and offered her a hand, promising, "Don't worry, my Angel. They will pay." _

_He placed a kiss on her brow and escorted her back inside. He sat her down next to his devils and introduced them before going off by himself to send an owl to a specific goblin at Gringott's, saying simply that he wanted to hire someone to do some digging. It was a few days later before his devils and angel saw him again for any significant length of time. When they did, Harry sat next to Luna and across from Fred and George, and drank a cup of tea while ignoring the curious stares from his little family. Their curiosity was satisfied when the Daily Prophet came by owl and they read the paper. After reading the very revealing secrets of the girls who had teased and humiliated her, and the additional secrets of the girls' families, Luna turned to Harry and gave him a warm hug and a heartfelt, "Thank you, brother."_

_Harry tensed before he slowly relaxed and replied, "You're welcome, sister." And just like that, they were formally family._

Peering through half-closed eyes, Harry watched the playful blond scamper over. "Brother dear, have you seen the Blibbering Humdinger? I know it's here somewhere, because the trees are whispering!" Luna asked, lifting Harry's leg to look underneath it.

Amused, Harry shook his head, "Sorry, little sister; I haven't seen the little pest anywhere. Have you checked the lillies? Or maybe the baby's breath? If the trees are whispering, maybe the baby's breath is, too."

Luna paused in thought, then kissed Harry's cheek before racing off towards the lilies. Chuckling, Harry went back to relaxing.

Suddenly, piercing pain went ripping through his back. Grunting in shocked reaction, Harry struggled to roll to his stomach. It was only when he heard Luna screaming in agony that the adrenaline hit and Harry was up on his feet, forcibly pushing the pain below his consciousness, focusing purely on getting to his angel. When he reached her, Luna's screaming had degenerated into long, sobbing cries. Reaching a shaking hand toward Harry, she whimpered in pain as she peered in shock at the black, blood-soaked wings protruding from her back. Unsteadily kneeling beside her, Harry next heard his devils tortured shrieks from within the house. Acting on an atavistic need to get all of them into a safe, central location from which to face the danger, Harry gently picked Luna up, mindful of her beautiful but bloody wings, and made his way back inside.

Moving out of sheer force of will, Harry walked into the empty kitchen. Looking around frantically, he finally saw blood trailing into the living room. Panicking, Harry carried Luna and moved as fast as he could push his agonized body, following the trails while continually pushing down his own, rapidly-building pain. In the middle of the living room, his devils were curled around each other, whimpering and gasping for breath, each with brand-new, bloody red wings with black tips arching up from their shoulders. He bent and carefully placed his shocky angel on the ground, casting a quick warming charm on her before he limped over to his devils aid. He had only just managed to check their pulses before he felt his own pain becoming unbearable. Knowing that he would not be functional much longer, he cast another warming charm on his devils. Standing, he managed to get a safe distance from his family before his skin tore open, spitting blood splatters everywhere. His shoulder blades felt like they were afire, and he barely managed to drag a tortured breath into his straining lungs before all-consuming agony engulfed him. Throwing back his head, Demon roared his rage as two giant, feathery wings exploded from his back, full extending in a painful snap. Finally, the pain overwhelmed his senses and Harry gratefully succumbed to unconsciousness as his vision faded to black.

Much, much later, when Harry clawed his way back to awareness, he found himself prone on an unfamiliar bed with his exhausted angel curled up miserably to one side of him while his devils huddled in pained unconsciousness on the other side. Blearily looking around, he noticed the place was a little like a palace. Slowly and carefully crawling out of the bed so as to not wake his family, he looked around before spotting two people, a man and a woman, watching from comfortable chairs by the empty fireplace. Narrowing his eyes, Harry realized that any answers would come from these people, and that it would be wise to be, at the very least, polite.

Approaching cautiously, Harry cleared his throat. "Excuse me, I …. I'm at a bit of a loss here … could you please explain what has happened? Is my family all right? Why are we here and not in our own homes?"

"Please, take a seat, Harry," the man said calmly with a regal wave of his hand. It was odd, no matter how hard he concentrated, Harry had trouble distinguishing the man's features. He could tell he was probably tall, and seemed graceful, perhaps even somewhat inhumanly attractive, but … was he blond? Or is that just the lighting? Are his eyes gray, or blue … or maybe green? Glancing at the woman, he had the same difficulty, and understood that he was not meant to know what these people looked like. It was not for him to know.

"Very good, Harry. We have seen older and seemingly wiser people than yourself struggle for much longer before reaching and accepting that conclusion. You truly are remarkable, Harry. You and your family. Very few beings who have attempted the **Avenging Angel ritual** make it work, and fewer still survive the change," the woman complimented. Her voice was rich and cool, like cream. It soothed Harry's raw nerves, and he welcomed the respite.

"Thank you for your accolade. We had very great motivation and inspiration to make it work. As muggles say, 'necessity is the mother of invention'," Harry replied courteously.

"Indeed, all of that is true. But I will ask, even though I know the answer: did you read the inscription before or after you had cast the spell?" the man asked.

With slow-dawning realization, Harry closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Reaching up, he pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. "Ah. An inscription…. (sigh)…. Let me guess – it describes the consequences of our choice, right?" With a dark, rueful laugh, Harry looked up and met the man's surprisingly sympathetic gaze. "No, sir, I did not read any inscription, before or after we performed the ritual. I won't make the same mistake twice, though!"

"Indeed not! Shall I explain what you should have read?" the woman asked.

"If you would be so kind? I'm assuming that gaining wings isn't actually the big picture here." Harry nodded. He was so afraid for his family.

"It basically states that if your cause for the ritual was truly for the greater good…" she stopped abruptly as Harry flinched sharply. "No, child. Not the misused bastardization of the Greater Good that the vicious old man you executed oft employed. He served no good but his own, and I am certain you know that. The Greater Good we speak of here is the one you and your siblings chose to serve. Do you understand?" At his thoughtful nod, she continued. "So, then, if you conducted the ritual for pure reasons, to truly do what is right and good, what serves magic and nature and the true purpose of the creatures of the world, subsequent events would follow a specific path. Your cause was deemed just by Magic and the gods and goddesses, greater and lesser. Therefore, the people you slew with the power of the Ritual would be sent into a hell of their own making – odd, really, how many simply shape their hell to fit the Christian fiery pits of hell, even when they are not Christian! …" she mused, before the man cleared his throat meaningfully. Shaking her head quickly, she resumed, "My apologies. Eternity does tend to make one philosophical. Anyway, your Light Lord and your Dark Lord are now serving eternity in their hell. In exchange for your ability to cast these souls to hell, you – and your siblings – now Avenging Angels. In answer to your earlier comment, gaining wings is not the whole of the 'big picture', as you say; it is merely the portent. The extent of your … hmmm, payment, I suppose …. is that if within the extent of your natural lifetime there comes a time or place in which your powers were needed, wings would manifest and you will be taken to the people in need."

Harry was silent for several moments before replying, "From what you have told me, I would be correct to assume, that because our cause was worthy and since we have sprouted wings, we are needed "somewhere" and are called to serve?"

"You would be correct," the man nodded. He seemed to be sympathetic, in a mildly amused kind of way, at the thoughts he could read roiling through Harry's mind.

'Wonderful. Bloody brilliant. Save a world, and what's our reward? Do we even get a whole month off? Of course not! Because someone, somewhere, needs Avenging Angels, and that would be US, with the honking great wings and the agony and the …. Argh!' Sighing heavily, he leaned his forearms on his knees and stared gloomily at the floor. "Bloody, freaking fantastic. And there is no chance of escaping it?" Harry questioned.

"Not unless you want to join those you sent to hell?" the woman asked casually. He found he did not actually appreciate her seeming flippancy. Yes, they should have read the fine print, but was her attitude really necessary?

"Right. Brilliant. Fucking hell," Harry muttered. Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to pull his thoughts together and gather the pertinent information. "So where exactly are we needed, how do we get there, and are we going to be sent in blind?"

The woman seemed somewhat taken aback at his abrupt shift in manner. "You are needed in Middle Earth, which is a world apart from your own, one of many we tend. We will transport you at the appropriate time. And no, of course not! Do not mistake us as your former headmaster!" For a goddess, or whatever, the woman seemed a bit … snarky? He briefly wondered if Snape had any relatives amongst the gods, and then almost choked at the thought. No, Snape's relatives would definitely have come from the polar opposite of gods. Still, the goddess was touchy, she had practically snarled that last part.

"My apologies, madam, I meant no disrespect. I was merely trying to organize my mind for the necessities my family and I would need," Harry explained carefully. This was quite enough to stress out about; he definitely did not need an offended goddess added to the mix. The god had been sitting quietly, but his abrupt snort just further confirmed Harry's suspicions that his thoughts were being read. He really hated that, but at least it was a deity this time – last time it had been slimy Snape, the snarky Slytherin. Having a god in his head was much less disturbing.

"You are forgiven, Harry. We will implant the information within your minds to ease the process. You are greatly aided by the measures you all took to increase your learning ability and knowledge retention. You will have one week to train your wings and discover your power, as well as to plan and provision yourselves. Do not fear bringing whatever you will to your new world; there will be no repercussion. We already know your choices, of course, and are comfortable with them," the woman told him.

"Do not worry about your magic, you will still have all of it at your command. You lose nothing, you simply gain another power and the gift of flight," the man added.

"Also, since you and your family have been dealt a harsh start, we choose to give you a gift of purest treasure. We have seen your lives, yours most especially, young Harry, and we know that this next gift will make everything balance. You will each meet and bond with your other halves on Middle Earth. Your soul mates, if you prefer that title. As Avenging Angels, you four are now immortal. We know how protective you are of your loved ones, and how close you are to your family. You have lost too much, and would not easily survive the grief of losing your loved ones to mortality when you yourself are immortal. Therefore, your mates will be immortal and forever tied with you, and your children and their mates will be immortal as well. It is even possible, although you must use this ability carefully, for an Avenging Angel to grant immortality to one who is neither mate nor blood. Whether they be human or elf," the woman continued.

Momentarily overwhelmed, Harry took a few moments to process everything. Then, "ELF? Like, a house elf? My mate is a house elf?" Quite frankly, he was horrified. It was true that he was fond of Dobby and Winky, but this was just … ergh!

His disgusted expression pushed the god into deep, genuine laughter. "NO, Harry! Oh, wind lords, that is most amusing!" Taking a moment to compose himself, he continued with a large smile on his probably handsome face. (Honestly, not being able to distinguish his features was kind of annoying.) "We speak not of house elves, Harry, but of True Elves. Tall, beautiful, strong, graceful, attuned with nature …. You will learn more in the imprinting, but truly, you need have no fears. All of you will have wonderful mates whom you find highly attractive. Your own mate, young wizard, has long been a favorite of mine. He will treat you well and love you fiercely, little one. His love will heal you, and yours will heal him. I myself am deeply happy for you both and am eager for your first meeting."

Lost in the images cast into his head by the god's words, he had a faraway look in his eyes, before he abruptly blinked and flushed a bit. "He?"

Smiling understandingly, the goddess rose and approached him. Raising a graceful hand, she stroked his hair back and met his embarrassed gaze. "Harry, your life has been such that you have barely ever even considered the needs and attractions of your own body and soul. The issue of love, for you, has centered around friendship and family, and that alone has been disappointing except for those three." She nodded a head toward the bed, where his siblings slept. "There is no real amount of time for you to go through all of the internal conversations one must usually have regarding attraction toward a mate, and so I simply tell you this and you must accept it to be truth. You have suspected that you prefer your own gender, and the narrow and hateful views of the disgraceful people with whom you were forced to spend your childhood made you never consider the subject again. I say now, those people were wrong. Love is love, and it is a gift and a blessing. Particularly for magical beings, gender has little import on issues of mating, as bearing children is a gift of love, power and magic. You will have time within your dreams and thoughts to consider this and become comfortable with yourself, and the imprinting will give you all the information you need about the various races of Middle Earth. For now, know this: your mate awaits you, though he knows it not. He has waited millennia for you. Believe that you will be more precious to him than the air he breathes."

He blinked back a mist of tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. He wanted to think about this, to hold it close and look carefully upon it and learn exactly how he felt. But now was not the time. Now, he needed other answers.

"Thank you, Lady … and Lord, " he added, nodding to the god. "I understand that I will learn more during this imprinting that you describe, but please…What is Middle Earth?" Harry asked perplexed.

As the light in the room seemed to fade a little, Harry felt his eyelids grow heavier. He heard the god speak as it from a greater distance. "You will find out soon, young one; now it is time for you to go back to sleep. When next you wake, you will be in your own beds with the all the knowledge you need. The remaining time starts to count down from the moment you, Harry, awaken.

In exactly one week, you and your family will be transported to Middle Earth. Prepare to arrive amidst a battle, although it is still our hope to arrange a more peaceful greeting for you. Still, be ready," the god cautioned.

"Right, ok," Harry slurred sleepily. "Wait a moment more, please….Who are you?"

The woman smiled and said warmly, "You may call us Mother and Father."

"Of what?" Harry asked, nearly asleep.

"Of everyone and everything. Sleep, Harry," The man whispered gently. Harry felt greatly comforted as the god's love reached out and enveloped him. He had never felt so safe. Smiling slightly, Harry relaxed into sleep.

oooooooooooooo

When Harry next awoke, he was once again in the middle of the living room, blood splattered everywhere. He remembered everything of his meeting with the god and goddess. He knew how to call his wings out and make them recede again. He had full knowledge of the history and facts of Middle Earth. He knew much of what was coming. And he had seen his mate. Recalling that glorious memory, his breath caught in awe. Reluctantly and gently putting that wondrous memory aside for the moment, he focused on what had to be done.

Standing carefully, Harry stretched his wings out before tucking them close as he cleaned up the blood. He waited patiently as Fred, George and Luna awoke with new knowledge burning in their eyes. As the other three rose and copied his actions, they shared a smile of anticipation and dawning joy. Turning, he walked out the door and into the moonlight. Extending his wings wide, Harry leaped into the sky, closely followed by his winged family.


	3. Chapter 2

"Ready, my angel and devils?" Harry asked, tying his black hair back with a leather strip. In ten minutes, they were going to be transported to Middle Earth and into the middle of a fight between Uruk-hais and men with elven allies.

"Of course...," Fred started, adjusting his gray leather pants.

"...our demon..." George continued, tightening the laces on his boots.

"...brother!" they finished in unison.

"We have all of our battle robes packed, and all of our leather clothing and tunics, as well as all of our weapons cleaned, sharpened and strapped on," Luna stated as she finished braiding her hair.

"Excellent. Do we have provisions? Potions?" Harry asked, tightening a leather strap on Luna's sheaths while Fred and George were doing the same for their axes.

"Yes and yes, as well as pranks..." George started this time, slinging a flat pack enchanted to be bottomless and weightless across his back from his right shoulder to his left hip and connecting the strap around his hip before sliding his battle robes on. They all had a similar pack; the only difference between them was the color of leather used. A deep red for Fred, a silvery gray for George, a light blue for Luna and a deep emerald for Harry.

"...equipment as well as...," Fred continued, copying his brother.

"...some texts and journals, tents, and other miscellaneous items that I saw we would need," Luna finished, while double-checking the knife straps on her legs.

There was a moment of quiet as they stared at each other, each seeing their family looking ready for battle with small smirks (Devils), a serene smile (Angel) and grim determination (Demon). It was just one minute before they were due to arrive on the battlefield in the midst of an epic battle. They unsheathed their primary weapons and moved to their war formation and stances, just as an owl unexpectedly crashed through a window and dropped a letter into Harry's hand. He managed to shove the missive into a pocket on his robe just as they felt their bodies dissipate and disappear into light.

When the world again came into focus, the group was plunged into the chaos and noise of a raging battle- and, as expected, they were surrounded by bloodthirsty and battle-crazed Uruk-hais. Grunting, Harry muttered, "Figures!" before noticing that there were some Uruk-hais running with oily, fiery torches, and his immediate thought was that they had found a way to destroy the wall, bringing the keep's defenses down. Harry quickly leveled his hand with the earth and let his elemental power flow through his body, causing his eyes to glow a pure green; and he flicked his hand, causing a massive stone wall to raise from the earth. It was taller than Helm's Deep's walls, with stairs on the inside for the men and elves, and slick stone on the side facing themselves and the enemy. With the keep's defenses saved, it was time for work, and with that he brought the stunned Uruk-hais back to focus by sweeping his sword in a deadly arc, killing ten. Immediately, all of the Uruk-hais brethren turned viciously onto the four powerful beings.

"Oi! What's Flint's family doing there?" Fred questioned mockingly, swinging his axe and felling seven of the nasty things.

"It's his ancestors, I bet," George confirmed, efficiently beheading five of them with a curse flying from his axe.

Luna was humming thoughtfully for a moment before disappearing, and the three males seamlessly moved inward, closing the ranks. Luna re-appeared next to two tall elves who were in danger of being slain by the enraged Uruk-hais that had been trapped when the stone barrier was erected. Grabbing both by their arms, she brought the stunned elves back to her formation outside of Helm's Deep, where her brothers had sensed her presence before she and her captives arrived and had re-formed to leave a gap for Luna and room in the middle for the bewildered elves. Smirking, Luna went back to fighting while waiting for her mate to speak.

Harry, on the other hand, was fighting with his magic. From the moment his mate's feet touched the ground, Harry's magic was wanting to greet and caress him. Harry kept his magic in an iron hold, directing his magic's frustration to the poor beast, since his magic took the form of a beast, and began to tear and rip into the Uruk-hais, blood spraying everywhere. He could feel his mate's stare as he directed his vicious magic to which beast to slay. A few moments passed and he felt a warm hand on his lower back signaling his mate was ready to fight once more. A sharp whistle and everyone flawlessly shifted so that Harry's mate was allowed a spot in the formation. Luna's mate, however, was still in the middle of the group and growing very frustrated.

Harry focused his energy and power into his hand, creating a quiver and several magic-infused arrows. Handing them to his mate, he said, "We are able to keep them several feet away from us, so your blade will not be of help. Use your bow. These are special arrows. You still need to aim but if you speak a specific part at which you aim, it will hit true. They are never ending as well."

With that said, Harry took control of his magic once more and began sending curses and hexes through his sword, ruthlessly slaying his opponents. Glorfindel took the proffered arrows and unslung his bow. Aiming for the Uruk-hais's head, he softly said, "Left eye," and let the arrow fly. Surprise marred his handsome face when the arrow sank effortlessly into the center of the left eye. With a feral grin, the warrior rejoined the battle. Meanwhile…

"Woman, I demand that you let me help," Luna's mate nearly growled, frustrated and bewildered that he was being kept from the fight.

"Sorry, my mate, but I cannot allow you to," Luna replied serenely as her sword's magic sliced several Uruk-hais arms from their bodies, the bloody meat falling limply to the already crimson ground.

"You WILL allow, especially since my companion has also joined in!" Luna's mate tried once more.

"Hmmm, true, but Demon has magic that I don't, so sit tight as it will be over in a few minutes. Take the time to stare at my backside!" Luna replied teasing as she shook her backside a bit more, inexplicably causing more Uruk-hais limbs to be severed.

Luna's mate growled in frustration before taking her advice and gazing at her shapely bum.

True to Luna's word, five minutes later a group of riders came charging down from the east and decimated the last of the Uruk-hais. It was another five minutes before all the foul beasts were dead and Harry lowered his stone protection. The defenders still on the wall were carefully levitated to safety by his Devils and Angel. The men and elves from the inside came flooding out to greet the mysterious four as well as the riders. Harry erected a shield around the six of them and turned to family first.

"Angel?" Harry questioned, looking for wounds. Seeing the fiery spark in her eyes, he knew that his Angel would soon be having the time of her life.

"I'm fine, Demon!" Luna replied with a smile that caused her mate to gasp and gaze at the beauty that was Luna.

Harry's gaze passed over Luna's mate to his Devils; but before he could ask, his Devils beat him to it.

"Why, our dear Demon...," Fred started, leaning on his axe's handle.

"...we are fine, why don't...," George continued, wiping his sweat from his forehead.

"...you go snog that handsome...,"

"...Elf you are avoiding?" They finished together with knowing smirks.

"We will go sustain the masses for a bit," George said with a crazed wink, denoting that their inner Marauders were raring to go.

Harry nodded and allowed the two to leave the shield. Before turning to his mate, he noticed his angel was wrapped in the arms of her mate, being kissed within an inch of her life.

Chuckling, he turned to his own mate, a powerfully-built Elf who was an inch or two taller than his own 5'11" height, and studied him. His mate had a strong frame with a solid chest but was still lean like other elves, he could see in his physique the proof that his mate was a seasoned warrior, an assessment confirmed by the wary stance and the armor that seemed like a second skin. He knew that elvish armor was strong and flexible, but the way he wore it clearly showed that he was as familiar and comfortable with the armor as a wizard is his favorite robe. Looking up into the his mate's fascinated gaze, he saw a strong but graceful face and warrior eyes that shone with amusement, caution and what seemed – he hoped – a hint of love. The long, blond hair, though, was pulled back into a complicated plait that a Malfoy would envy, ensuring that not a single strand could escape to cause distractions during battle. The warrior's distinctive, leaf-shaped ears completed the overall impression Harry had of graceful, beautiful, powerful ... MATE.

"Hello. I am Marcaunon," Harry introduced himself in Elvish.

"I am Glorfindel, although I thought your name was Demon?" Glorfindel replied in Elvish with amusement and a touch of confusion.

"That is my battle name," Harry answered. He could tell that this was his mate and he wanted badly to be welcomed into those arms, to let his magic unfurl and surround them both.

Glorfindel saw the longing in Harry's eyes. He felt his own longing reaching out. With a warm, steady gaze, he stepped closer to Harry and whispered, "Why are you holding back with such a wary stance, my love?"

Harry fought for the control that was rapidly diminishing with his mate this close, and replied stoically and with hidden pain in his eyes, "I ... admit I am a bit hesitant to trust. Everyone besides my angel and devils has let me down or betrayed me."

Glorfindel moved closer to the point he was surrounding Harry's body and whispered into Harry's ear while brushing a thumb across his cheek, "None of them were your mate. I am, and I would never betray or abandon you. You are my world."

Harry breath ghosted past his mate's ear in question, "Would you lock me away? Or use me for the greater good?"

Glorfindel shivered hearing his mate's whispered question and answered with conviction, "Never, my love. I can see that your soul needs to be free and I wish to follow. I would never use you or your family in any way."

Apparently, that was the right answer, as Harry pitched forward and forced himself into Glorfindel's arms, causing the older elf to wrap his arms around his young and obviously heartsore mate. He could feel his mate shaking, but knew that it was not due to falling tears. Then the air shifted and Glorfindel felt a comforting presence surround and enfold him. Softly, in keeping with the reverence and fragility of the moment, he asked his mate about it.

"It's my magic accepting you as my mate," Harry explained after calming down and resting his head against the armored chest. He reflected idly about the odd fact that he could feel Glorfindel's body warmth, even though the Elf was wearing his armor.

"It feels unique, familiar and powerful," Glorfindel replied, quietly stroking Harry's black hair.

"Familiar how?" Harry asked, pulling back.

"Well, it's similar to Gandalf's, but it feels familiar to me ... welcoming and warm ... like returning home after a long journey," Glorfindel answered, smelling Harry's hair. He wondered how the man could smell like fresh rain when he'd just emerged from vigorous battle.

Harry's relaxed body suddenly shifted from increasing relaxation to alert tension. In a single, smooth motion, he pulled away from his confused mate and unsheathed his sword. If Harry's glance to his angel was correct, she had copied his movements, leaving her mate confused, too. A few seconds later and their shield rippled and shook from an external assault before falling forcefully. Harry snarled and his eyes began to glow green as his gaze fell upon a man that looked horribly similar to his hated ex-headmaster, even the old man's magic felt similar to Dumbledore's.

"Put away your sword, young Marcaunon. You as well, Ithilwen," the white man commanded. Harry and Luna both were angered but unsurprised by the man's arrogance and discourtesy.

"You are not privileged to use those names. You may call us Demon and Angel," Harry snarled.

The white man's gaze sharpened assessingly, and he spread his hands disarmingly as a disturbingly familiar twinkle began to appear in his eyes. "We are but friends here; surely, there is no need for hostility?" the white man suggested.

"We consider anyone who imposes his will upon our magic and forcefully destroys it without reason or discourse to be our foe," Harry replied coldly, his hand steady while his magic bubbled restlessly in response to the hatred that Harry was harboring.

"We tried to warn you, Dumbledore wanna-be," his devils chorused with a sneer.

"You should have listened," his angel stated impassively, her attention and weapons trained unwaveringly on the man.

Suddenly, there were several swords drawn on them and a male voice called angrily, "Why are you so hostile to the greatest Istari alive, one who is everything good and pure? How dare you?"

"If he is everything good and pure, why didn't he ask to talk to us rather than tearing down our defenses? Would you be friendly to one who broke down your door and then spoke condescendingly to you? He chose force and arrogance, and now employs manipulation as his tactics failed," Harry answered coldly, still focusing on the 'wizard'.

"Forgive an old man for his mistakes. I was merely concerned that you were trapped," the old man replied. His arms remained spread in a conciliatory gesture meant to indicate no harm. Demon may even have responded well to that, had not the Istari put a touch of Power into his voice.

"I don't believe that for a second; obviously, we were not in danger," Harry sneered, throwing off the minor compulsion a return snap of his own. The Istari's eyes widened briefly before narrowing in re-assessment.

"There are only a few Istari alive with that type of power; I truly was worried," the wizard calmly replied, motioning for the men to lower their weapons. The Elves had never drawn their own weapons, as they could see that their leaders had found their mates and were happy. They had seen the two red-haired warriors approach and watched the glowing shield wrap around the two Elven warriors and their mates. They knew that eventually the four would have resurfaced from the splendor of this first meeting and emerged from their world.

Glorfindel and Haldir, Luna's mate, lowered their swords but did not relax. They didn't appreciate the way Gandalf was treating their mates and the saviors of Helm's Deep. Glorfindel sneered at the Istari, and with sarcasm as fine as an Elven blade, he said, "Although some here clearly have chosen to dismiss the rules of courtesy, I will not. Demon, Angel, and Devils, " he said, meeting the eyes of each in turn with a touch of humor, "allow me to introduce to you Gandalf, the White Wizard, revered Istari and friend to Elves." His manner made it clear that he was not entirely certain as to the wisdom of the latter title.

Gandalf winced at the painful rebuke. The frozen Elven courtesy of a protective and incensed Glorfindel was a weapon in and of itself.

"You do realize, Gandalf, that you have committed serious crimes against the saviors of Helm's Deep and our mates?" Glorfindel questioned, icily eyeing the Istari.

White eyebrows shot up a wrinkled forehead. "How are they the saviors? And what crimes?" Gandalf questioned cautiously. It was becoming distressingly clear just how badly he had bungled this situation.

"Although I have now rectified some of your gaff, you have not introduced yourself - neither before nor after you attacked them - and you acted aggressively, apparently without even attempting to understand the situation. As anyone - correction, as EVERYONE - here could have informed you, these four arrived moments before the Uruk-hais could bring down the outer-defenses. They raised their own defenses for Helm's Deep, trapping only a few of the enemy with several of our warriors, before saving both Haldir and I from certain death. They then took out two-thirds of the enemy by themselves," Glorfindel answered calmly with steely eyes.

"My sincere apologies then, Mar...er... Demon, Angel and Devils; I had not thought that you were Istari as well," Gandalf answered. He continued somewhat ruefully, "Apparently, I did not think much at all. Forgive me, I am Gandalf the White." Haldir snorted at the belated words.

"Duly noted, but I find it interesting – and questionable - that you somehow completely missed us taking down the stone protection and levitating the soldiers," Harry replied. "The battle was won; hard to not notice a gigantic stone cliff sinking back into the ground and warriors apparently floating through the air like dainty feathers." A ripple of amusement passed through the Elven warriors and some of the humans as Glorfindel slid a sideways grin at Harry. "Not to mention ignoring the words of the Devils, which you were doing even as you attacked us."

Gandalf nodded slowly. "It appears I have much to make up to you, if your tense and still hostile stances are anything to go by," he said, gesturing to the six.

"You not only forced your magic upon us unwilling, but you are disturbingly similar in appearance, magic and manner to a wizard we knew for whom we hold deep loathing," Luna answered, sheathing her weapons and wrapping her arms around Haldir.

The Devils' expressions were cold as they said in unison, "And in attitude, dearest Angel. Let us not disregard the similarity of attitude."

Gandalf sighed deeply. "Perhaps with time, I can change your minds and reduce your anger towards me. I wish to try. All I ask is to let me show you that, despite this poor beginning, I am not truly like this obviously loathsome man you knew," he stated with clear sadness.

"We will try to give you the benefit of the doubt, but your first actions do not make us optimistic. Understand, we will remain wary," Harry warned. He paused a moment in thought. "Nevertheless, in these times of turmoil and need, we will endeavor to work together. My angel, devils and I cannot handle this Dark Lord by ourselves, nor would any of the noble races of this world truly want us to. This requires cooperation and support amongst us all," Harry said, decisively sheathing his sword in a gesture of allies, and motioned for his devils to put their own weapons away as well.

"Wise words, Demon. Are you perchance speaking from experience?" Gandalf asked curiously. It seemed the lesson had not yet caught.

"If we so chose to disclose that information, you haven't earned it," Harry answered with frost. His eyes glowed slightly, catching the awed notice of those nearby.

Luna, sensing that her Demon was close to losing all control with their newly-formed ally, said airily, "Demon, Devils, is it not time to setup our camp? Glorfindel and Haldir, do you wish to accompany us or stay here?"

The two in question exchanged glances. "Are our troops allowed to come with us?" Haldir asked. He did not ask about the humans or the Fellowship. He may consider Aragorn a friend, but he was angered that the man had drawn his sword on Haldir's precious but feisty mate.

"Yes," Harry responded, knowing Luna was going to ask him.

"Then we will follow you," Glorfindel answered, watching in concerned approval as his mate calmed down.

"If all the elves will hold hands and connect by touch to either Haldir or Glorfindel, we will transport you to our chosen location," Luna explained quietly, which was loud enough as all of the elves were near their leaders and had extraordinary hearing anyway. Within a few minutes, everyone was connected and Luna, The Twins, and their mates laid a hand on Harry, and Harry transported them, leaving behind the shocked men, and a bewildered elf, dwarf, and Istari.

"Perhaps you judged the situation too quickly before acting," Legolas commented in Gandalf's general direction, looking in shock at the suddenly empty space.

A short but powerful redhaired warrior with a truly impressive, braided beard barked a scornful laugh. "Trust an Elf to excel at understatement! I liked those redheaded fellows, good choice of weapon," Grimili said gruffly, hiding a smile at the way that the small group got one over the wizard but scowling at the fact that the Elves got there before he could.

"This had best end well, Gandalf. I will not have them offended. I want them back so I can properly thank them for saving most of my soldier's lives – doubtless, my people in the caverns, too," King Theodin grunted, looking gratefully at all of his men who still lived and breathed thanks to the astonishing stone barrier that those strangers had erected and the amazing manner in which they cleared the battlefield of the hideous enemy. He had seen Helm's Deep's defenses failing and the vision of the ruin of his people was clear and piercing. He would forever remember the moments that followed; the impressions sharp and glorious.

"They shouldn't have reacted so hostilely to Gandalf, as he was simply trying to help," Aragorn huffed, still slightly angry that they pulled their weapons on his friend. He ignored for the moment the truth of his friend's poor actions.

There was some more bickering and commenting before Gandalf, who had remained lost in thought through it all, gave voice to the conclusions he had drawn from his own observations, as well as what the wind whispered in his ear and played in visions across the sky.

"I have indeed made a grievous mistake against those strangers," Gandalf stated clearly, abruptly gaining everyone's attention.

"What do you mean, Gandalf?" Aragorn questioned hesitantly. He knew his own destiny, and felt unready for such a weight. He valued the old Istari's wisdom and insight. If the old man admitted failing, then he, Aragorn, must learn why and, if necessary, admit to his own. He hoped it wasn't too large an error; being wrong tasted like ashes these days.

"They are powerful, more powerful than me. And even more, they are Great. They come from another world entirely, purely to help save ours. At immense and unbearable personal cost, they saved their own world from two power hungry men - one of whom, I am deeply shamed to say, is the one I remind them of. Their leader of the four, Demon, has suffered the most, but they each have suffered in their own way and persevered through intolerable circumstances. It is amazing that they didn't simply reply to my offense by striking out with lethal force, especially Demon. Their restraint says as much of their Greatness as the rest of their actions. They deserve far more respect than what we – I – have shown," Gandalf explained in humility and awe.

The men shifted uncertainly. They knew it took much to garner even a small measure of genuine respect from the venerable wizard. His power and status were such that, affable character aside, he had little cause to be impressed with anyone. The Istari simply had no true peer remaining on Arda, and certainly there were no betters since the betrayal of Saruman. That situation alone would create arrogance in any person of any race. The men weren't sure they really wanted to have to associate closely with people who could humble Gandalf. However, Legolas the elf and Gimli the dwarf were eager to meet them once more and hopefully fight beside them, as they had seen them in battle from the top of the stone barricade. It was a sight to remember and pass down amongst their people. Besides, Gimli really wanted a closer look at the sarcastic, redheaded twin Devils' axes. He was of a mind to make them honorary dwarves, issues of height aside.

Meanwhile in a forest nearby…

A group of elves, including Glorfindel and Haldir, stared in amazement and awe at the four inexplicably youthful Istari, who were standing in four strategic points and chanting with their glowing hands raised upward. The elves were further lost in amazement when they saw a bright blue dome cover them and spread out a good deal more before disappearing as the four stopped chanting and turned as one to look at their guests.

Harry and the twins turned to Luna, who smiled in response and said to the Elves, "Before we continue with setting up camp, does anyone require healing?"

Haldir tilted his head down to look at his mate. "We have the capability of caring for most injuries, little one... my FIERCE little one!," he added hastily as her dreamy gaze turned into a glare. He ignored the snickering warriors behind him as his beautiful mate's expression softened. Smiling in relieved amusement at her, he continued, "The battle had not devolved into overmuch hand-to-hand combat when you four arrived. We were just preparing to defend the breached wall when your miraculous stone outer wall appeared. There were only a few of the enemy who entered the Keep before then, and they were swiftly dispatched when our defenses reappeared."

Glorfindel cast an inspecting eye over the troops. They all seemed well, except... "Taorin! Why is your stance so tense? Are you concealing injury?"

The surrounding Elves turned to look at the warrior in question. Truly, they were unsurprised. As Elves go, Taorin would make a fine human. He was a decent person, but his status as a warrior had always been questionable. He was better as a perimeter guard stationed high in the trees of Lothlorien. He was at home in the trees. On the ground, he was... not.

Harry and his family watched as a slightly shamefaced warrior with blond hair bound in an Elven warrior's knot stepped forward. They noted the hitch in his breath and the almost-limp he was not quite supressing. The warrior stopped in front of Glorfindel and sighed resignedly before he briefly spoke. "Right thigh." Luna approached him with complete ease, and it seemed to Haldir and Glorfindel that she simply looked _through_ Taorin's leather clothing and leggings to the wound beneath. Taorin removed his leather guard and simply tore open the legging so the angelic woman could see more clearly. He wasn't happy about the injury - or being caught hiding it - but he was honored to be the first to experience a new facet of the amazing powers these new people possessed. He was twice honored than the one healing him was Haldir's own mate.

Haldir watched closely - and, he would admit at least to himself, jealously - as Luna placed her open palm near the elf's injured thigh and said "scourgify" and something that sounded to the Elves like "whiskey". Everyone except the four newcomers gasped as her hand glowed briefly and then the newly-clean but still-torn muscle sealed itself closed. Luna then turned to Fred and asked him for a blood replenisher. Fred laughed as he dug into a pocket on his robe, and then uncorked and handed a small bottle to the shocked elf. "Suck it down fast, mate, ...," he began amiably.

"..it tastes just like dirty socks and..." George continued with a grin.

"...moldy fruit, but it'll give you all the blood you need, _and_..." Fred added, with a dramatic pause, before Luna, Fred, George and Harry all recited together, "... NO VAMPIRES REQUIRED!" They broke into laughter at what was clearly to them an old and beloved joke, while the elves exchanged mystified glances and smiled along with the four out of sheer fellowship. Taorin obediently choked down the truly vile liquid and handed the bottle back with a laugh and a grimace, then offered sincere thanks and went off in search of water to purge his horrified taste buds.

"Anyone else? No?...All right, well, I suppose you all are tired?" Harry asked in Elvish. His family openly laughed at the gaping mouths of the Elven soldiers.

"Yes, we are, Marcaunon," Glorfindel answered his mate while smirking at his comrades. He was one of the oldest Elves remaining in Arda, possibly _the_ oldest if one counted his prior years before his rebirth, and he had been slowly succumbing to the tedium of living with no remaining surprises. He would have boarded the boats with so many of his kin and departed for the West had this latest war of the One Ring not begun. He was weary of living such a predictable life, and after so many millenia, there is very little that is not predictable. He joined Haldir at the Lady's request and, really, on a whim, and had been fully prepared to either survive and leave for the West or cross to Valinor. He had found himself at Helm's Deep, watching from the outer wall as it began to fall, watching the battle approach, entering the battlefield and coldly calculating how many he could kill this day and if he could create a truly spectacular run of death (because, after all, not many would survive an Elven Warrior of his skill and experience on a rampage with little more than casual interest in whether he lived or died)... and then he heard it. At first, he thought he had been mortally wounded, for Elven lore says that dying elves hear beautiful music, possibly the Lady herself, and that all surrounding noise fades as a dying elf follows the song into death. He had been overwhelmed with the beauty and joy that washed over and through him, and turned toward the source, only to see the impossible arrival of Marcaunon and his kin. And suddenly, the world was new again. He looked at his raven-haired mate with deep emotion in his heart, and was startled into a laugh at the abrupt question from a returning Taorin.

"Quick question; who _are_ you people?" Taorin asked. It was perhaps not the most dignified and well-mannered way to ask, but none chided him in favor of gaining the answer.

Luna smiled in amusement and said, pointing to each male respectively, "Our leader is Marcaunon in peaceful times, although while on the battlefield or a mission he is known as Demon. The redheaded menaces are Sidhenidon (Fred) and Eredhion (George) and they are known as the Devils. You may think it odd, but in battle, if you call out "Devil" and want Sidhenidon, he will respond; the same for Eredhion. I am Ithilwen, also know as Angel. It is possible you may hear us call each other by our names from the past, but please do not use them. We wish to make new memories with our present names."

While Luna was introducing them, the twins and Harry had shed their robes and weapons, leaving them clad in unusual, form-fitting leather pants and tunics that clung to them from the sweat . They were in the process of digging through their thin leather packs when another Elf asked, "What are you looking for in a pack that small?"

This time it was the twins who answered while Luna shed her battle robes and her weapons, leaving her dressed the same as her brothers and causing her mate to nearly drool at her curves while gaping at the amount of weapons she relieved from her person.

"Well you see, you know we are magic users, yes? What your people call "Istari"?" Fred asked, looking up for agreements. Seeing the nods, George picked up.

"So we have enchanted our packs to be bottomless and weightless," George explained.

"Which means that," Fred started but grunted, his whole arm stuck in the small bag, "Why are the heavy ones always on the bottom?"

"I don't know, dear brother," George began but was cut-off when Harry spoke.

"Just _Accio_ the damn tents, my brothers," Harry answered, pulling out his own, seemingly miniscule tent.

The elves were confused, what was an 'accio'? And _that_ was a tent? It looked nothing like a tent. It was ridiculously small, as if two, maybe three elves could possibly fit inside if they were all front to back and standing in a line. In fact, it looked like one's feet would stick out the opening if one tried to lie down in it.

"Marcaunon, not to sound unsupportive, but that looks less like lodging and more like a child's toy," Glorfindel hesitantly pointed out. He had seen the anger that his mate had directed at Gandalf and didn't want to have that upon himself.

"Oh, please, Glory, you are not about to incite my wrathful vengeance by asking questions or pointing something out, and the same goes for all of the Elves. You all have earned our respect by not drawing your weapons upon us," Harry stated, rolling his eyes, and the twins and Luna shared a happy relieved smile that was not missed by Glorfindel or the other elves.

Harry concentrated on his tent, unshrinking it and then focusing his magic on magically expanding the inside while keeping the outside compact. He considered, and then added a hundred individual rooms, complete with silencing curtains, cots, and blankets.

Turning around, Harry scanned the group of elves trying to guess how many when Luna answered, "200, Marcaunon."

"Thank you, Lun-Ithilwen," Harry responded, and looked over to see that his devils had their own tent out. He began focusing his magic on the twin's tent, adding another hundred rooms, curtains, cots and blankets.

"Right, so these two tents are for all of you and us. There should be a room and cot for everyone," Harry told the incredulous Elves. "Um, let's see... Each room has a silencing curtain, because I can imagine that even Elves snore and the cacophony from a couple hundred of you boggles the mind - although I'm sure you all snore musically and in complete harmony with each other!" he teased. There were appreciative smiles as he continued. "There is also a gathering room in the center that has a place for a fire, and I'm pretty sure there is a stream nearby, if you want to clean up, if I remember right," Harry told the group, narrowing his eyes in thought.

"There is," Luna assured them and opened the flap to one of the tents for the soldiers, motioning them inside. They were all hesitant, but a group of brave soldiers entered first, and were gone for several minutes before they came running out exclaiming to their comrades that "they _have_ to see this!" The Elves split into two groups and one by one entered the two tents. Harry and those still outside were laughing, hearing the shouts of amazement. It sounded like some of the elves were experimenting with the silencing curtains, as dozens of conversations and what may have been yodels seemed to turn on and off abruptly. The twins exchanged mischievous grins. It appears that in the face of magically expanded tents, even Elves lose their dignity.

"Shall we go into our tent?" Although phrased as a question, Luna's tone was clearly a command. She grabbed an increasingly restless Haldir's hand and pulled him straight to the room at the back, although it was clear that the elf was more than willing; in fact, it looked as if he may have been pushing her a little. Loudly proclaiming to their amused audience that this room was officially hers and Haldir's, she let the silencing curtain fall closed with a decisive snap. Harry and the twins exchanged laughing glances. They knew full well that the terms "Sub" and "Dom" in that relationship would be interchangeable between Haldir and their wonderful, surprising sister.

As the central room cleared out and the various elves began to settle in, Harry and the others walked into the tent at a more sedate pace, giving his mate time to study his surroundings and the wonders of this new environment while his devils went to the kitchen area and propped up their feet on the table.

"Feet off the table," Harry called out in a singsong voice, smiling slightly. It was an old argument - well, less an argument than a familiar routine.

"Feet off the table," Fred and George chorused back mockingly, grinning, and then began discussing their kills of the day and better ways to improve upon them.

Standing in the middle of the central room, waiting for his mate to finish exploring and return to him, Harry envisioned Glorfindel in his mind's eye. He saw the tall, broad, muscled body; the graceful hands; the strong, handsome ... no, _beautiful_ ... face; the way his eyes softened when he looked at Harry; the way his hair seemed to shimmer and glow as if embodied with moonlight... Harry shifted uncomfortably as he remembered how it felt to have his mate's hard body pressed against his own, to feel the warm breath across his skin, to hear the deep voice in his ear... 'STOP!' he sternly reprimanded himself. It would be entirely too embarrassing to have Glorfindel return while Harry was dealing with his body's inevitable reactions to thoughts of his mate. He found himself very grateful for the tunic he wore, because it is impossible to hide an erection while wearing tight, leather pants.

Deciding he needed a distraction, he focused on evaluating war tactics. When his mate returned to his side, Harry was sitting on one of the long sofas that ringed the room, surrounding the central fireplace. Briefly, Glorfindel marvelled at that fireplace; it was unlike any he had ever seen before, with the burnished metallic chimney suspended above, an empty space of two or three feet below it, and the firepit itself almost on the floor in the middle of the room, mounted on and surrounded by a beautiful, low stone hearth. It was both a lovely and efficient design, and regardless of where one sat, one could look upon the fire but also see easily through it to view the entire room. The room itself was ringed with comfortable couches, and with that, Glorfindel's attention returned to his tempting, introspective mate who was half-reclining upon a couch in an unconsciously provocative pose. His pupils contracted a bit as he focused on the well-formed legs in the skintight leather pants. Glorfindel really, really appreciated those leather pants.

Harry was lost in thought, analyzing the battle, thinking of ways to improve before the next big battle. _If we added more elements in our battle that would hinder our enemies but not us it would prove useful. So how do we protect our allies? We could make amulets but we would need time and resources. Maybe wards surrounding the area of the battle, but then we would need to make sure it played into our hands, _Harry thought, his mind rapidly coming up with new ideas. It was a few minutes later that he sensed his mate's presence and noticed his mate stood nearby, closely watching him. Harry swallowed abruptly and suddenly realized how a rabbit felt under the eye of an eagle.

Reaching for composure, he smiled somewhat nervously at Glorfindel and gestured towards the sofa. He watched with interest as his mate moved gracefully toward him and took a seat nearby. Glorfindel had positioned himself to face Harry. He was close, but not intrusive. Harry nodded in acknowledgement of his mate's intuitiveness; it seemed Glorfindel had determined, correctly, that Harry needed a little personal space in order to get through the coming conversation.

"So, how do you find our humble abode?" Harry asked teasingly. He was indeed quite curious as to his mate's perceptions; he was well aware that most of what he and his family had brought to this world was new to its people. Considering the fact that Glorfindel was actually the oldest living male elf in the realm - possibly the oldest elf, period, he was unsure about the Lady of the Woods - Harry could imagine that to encounter anything that was actually new would be shocking for his mate.

Glorfindel responded with clear delight. "It is somewhat astonishing. I am amazed that a tent barely large enough to fit a grown elf on the outside is equivalent to the size of a training hall on the inside! I ask, how can that be, and then I answer, because of Marcaunon. And that, itself, is the most wondrous thing of all."

Harry was greatly warmed by the light in the handsome elf's eyes, but he could also see a question burning there. He quirked a small smile and said simply, "Ask."

"Oh, Marcaunon. I have many questions, as I am certain you know. Perhaps it is better to determine which you would prefer to answer?" Glorfindel asked, pondering which he would ask first. He had spoken the truth, there was suddenly so much he did not know, so many questions burning inside of him, but he knew his mate was wounded in soul and reticent. He tried to focus on what he truly needed to know today, now, and to allow the hundreds ... nay, thousands ... of other questions to retreat a little and wait for a new day. For the first time in centuries, he felt anticipation and joy at the thought of the coming years.

Harry's grin broadened. "I'll let you order them as you will. Ask away, my Glory, and I will answer - although I would prefer the easy ones first."

And with that, the question Glorfindel had selected was shelved as he heard, again, the odd shortening of his name. "First, why do you call me Glory?" Glorfindel asked, slightly perturbed. He knew his mate was not being mocking, but he could not imagine what reasons the younger man could have.

"Well, one, it is a pet name or endearment if you will, one that I promise you only I will ever call you. I will happily maim anyone else that tries to use it. Two, you seem very much like Glory personified," Harry explained with a diffident shrug. He felt oddly shy, but he knew that his mate was unsure as his motivations on the endearment, and he really wanted the elf to understand and allow it. Harry would never again use it if Glorfindel truly disliked it - but he knew the warrior would always be Glory in his heart.

"What do you mean 'I seem like Glory'?" Glorfindel asked slowly, perplexed.

Sighing in resignation, Harry realized he had to explain some history in order to get his point across. He could feel the bond between them pulsing and flaring, and through the connection between their souls he knew of his mate's honesty in all of his actions and words.

"Alright, to elaborate a little, I'm going to give you a very short history about me so that you can see how my endearment for you came to be. Hopefully, it will answer a few of your other questions, as well, although I will be leaving out quite a bit of information. Later, you can ask for more and I will answer again. Is that alright?" Harry asked anxiously, hoping that it would be as he didn't really want to go into his past just yet.

"Of course! Whatever you want to and feel able to share is fine, my Marcaunon, anything you tell me is precious to me," Glorfindel answered, taking note of his mate's reticence.

Harry took a moment to order his thought, then began. "Okay, so as you may know that my family and I are not from Middle Earth, correct?" Getting a nod, he began, "We are from a place called Earth, just Earth. Well, I suppose we could also call it Terra, as this is Arda, but ... never mind, off topic... sorry." Glorfindel's concerned gaze did not miss Harry's rising stress as he prepared to dredge up what was clearly a painful past.

"Okay, um ...Earth is a world everything is advanced and magic is abundant. There are basically two categories of beings and such: Magic and Non-magic. Magickal World and Muggle World. Within the magic world, magic, people, creatures, and such are broken down into several different levels and sub-categories, although I'm sure you will be unsurprised to know that they are essentially polarized between Light and Dark. These sides were always in conflict, and during years just before and throughout my life, a war raged."

Pausing a moment, Harry concentrated and suddenly on the low table in front of the sofa, there appeared two crystal glasses and a large, icy bottle of water with condensation beads running down the sides. Glorfindel sat blinking as Harry leaned forward and poured some of the water into each of the glasses. He was fascinated as the water hissed and bubbled. He took a tentative sip from the glass Harry handed him and 'hmmmd' in appreciation at the crisp, citrusy taste. After taking his own long swallow, watched with intense interest by Glorfindel as his mate's throat moved, Harry resumed his lecture. "The Dark side was led by a truly terrible creature, a wizard who was literally more snake than man. He had many names, but we will simply call him The Dark Lord. He was powerful, bloodthirsty and utterly insane. His goal, and that of all his supporters, was to eradicate by genocide all non-magical, sentient beings and anyone who defended them. Basically, he wanted to kill about 90% of the world's population."

"The polar opposite side of the Dark were the Light supporters, led by a self-styled Lord of Light. You met his clone here this afternoon and saw how well we reacted to him, so you can imagine he wasn't exactly a paragon of virtue either. Like Gandalf or not, Earth's Lord of Light was arrogant, manipulative, controlling, and easily as evil as his counterpart - all behind a gentle, affable old-man smile and an expertly applied look of disappointment. Fortunately for us, my family and I seem to be immune to twinkle-power." The twins, listening in the kitchen, huffed a laugh at that.

Pausing again, Harry rubbed his forehead agitatedly. This was getting complicated. Trying to keep it simple, he began again. "Okay, well... A bunch of things happened, including gods-bedamned prophecies, and the Dark Lord himself personally tracked down my family and me. He came to our house, killed my parents, tried - but failed - to kill me, and ended up a spirit for a few years before he made a new body to inhabit out of my blood and a couple of other's spare body parts." Glorfindel's eyes had widened in horror at the monotone recitation, and his eyes begged his mate to elaborate. Harry conceded to the unspoken request. "He came after me because a prophecy said that I was the only one who could vanquish him, so he decided to eliminate the competition while I was still in nappies. Old Magic set off by my mother's sacrifice of her own death for me ensured I survived his killing curse, which is magic used for, well, killing. Anyways, I survived and was placed - courtesy of the "Lord of Light" - with my relatives."

"Good for nothing muggles," Fred muttered darkly. Glorfindel glanced over and met Fred's eyes. Fred nodded, a promise of future information in his blue eyes, and Glorfindel nodded briefly in response before returning his worried gaze to his tense mate.

"_Anyways_," Harry continued doggedly after a quick glare to his devil, "I basically grew up not knowing about the magical part of the world at all until my eleventh birthday, when I was accepted in a school that could train me in my magic. Among the other myriad joys of my childhood, I was purposely kept ignorant. I knew nothing of magic, of my family, of my heritage, my future, the magical world - nothing. It was only when I actually arrived at the school that I learned about my heritage and everything that it contained. And for the record, let me just say that there is no way possible for a kid to adequately respond to suddenly learning that he is a hero and a villain - sometimes to the same damn people! - and that he is prophesied to kill the Dark Lord, so the majority of the "Light" side is going to sit on their asses and wait for me to do that while they criticize and villify me for it and while the Dark supporters and their fucking leader do their best to torture and kill me several times a year!" Panting angrily, Harry scowled as he ranted. Glorfindel's warm hand on his arm and his deeply intent gaze calmed him down immediately. Shaking his head ruefully, he grimaced an apology as he continued, "Well, let's just say that people had certain ideas for me that didn't fit my plans. I met my devils and angel and trained them."

"Wait, weren't you supposed to be training at this school?" Glorfindel asked concerned. He was appalled and utterly incensed on his mate's behalf. It was true that Frodo was even this moment attempting a similarly monumental and cruel task, but Frodo's life at the Shire was reputed to have been wholesome, and his support from the Fellowship and their respective races was absolute. To foist such expectations upon a youngling without true training and support and the love every being of Light needed to steel resolve and protect the soul was ... Words failed him. The scope of the burden heaped upon his mate by the world of Terra was beyond inexcusable, beyond criminal. It was ... well. It was evil.

"Riiiigggghhht, I was supposed to, but the education offered was ... inadequate." This time it was George who interrupted the conversation, but his loud, derisive snort seemed entirely fitting and did not disrupt the flow at all. "Clearly, I needed extra training and I refused to let those I cared for and loved left weak and defenseless against the Dark Lord - or the Light Lord. So, I found a way." There was a quiet resolve about Harry now, a glimpse of the honorable, iron-willed soul that overcame everything despite impossible odds.

"Anyway, we trained and practiced and trained some more, becoming a very formidable team. We quietly took on the Dark Lord's supporters, trying out formations and spells and tactics, until we were ready to take on the Dark Lord himself – and, incidentally, his counterpart. Unfortunately but predictably, there was a slight hindrance to killing the Dark Lord, as he had split his soul - seven times. He tore it up and stuffed little sentient bits of it into various receptacles, which he then hid and guarded with all of his cunning. So, we researched and studied, trying to find a way to kill him, when we came across an ancient ritual that would send his soul, all of it, to the Great Beyond forever. _Naturally_," Harry added with heavy sarcasm, "there was also a catch that we didn't notice until a few incidents a week after the ritual began to clue us in."

Glorfindel was on the edge of his seat. Trying to set for the moment the horrific fact that this was his mate's life story, Glorfindel had to admit that Harry was a tremendously adept storyteller. "What happened?" Glorfindel asked, caught up in the tale and worried about what manner the ritual had backfired on his mate.

"Well," Harry said with a grin, "we sprouted wings and fell unconscious. Then, I ended up talking to the very people who decide all of the worlds' fates ... um, I believe the elves call them the Valar. They told me that my family and I were needed in Middle Earth where Elves, Dwarves and Men and some others would need our help to save yet another world. So ... yeah." Glorfindel could feel his own wide-eyed, jaw-dropped reaction, but was too shocked to care. The Valar. His mate and family were sent by the Valar. In the back of his mind, Glorfindel noted that he had need to work through this before he returned to Lothlorien, lest he march up to a certain all-knowing, smug Lady of the Woods and kick her right in the far-seer's ass. Twice.

Unaware of Glorfindel's musings, Harry rambled on. "Of course, they offered an irreplaceably, precious incentive: each of us would gain our soul mate. The ... Valar... gave us Middle Earth's history in its entirety, and then we individually saw our own mate's lives. So, I saw you. Oh, my glorious warrior, I saw you." The emotion in his mate's voice was patent, and Glorfindel's breath caught in response. "I saw all of your achievements, your downfalls, your character, your pride. Ithilwen saw Haldir, and Sidhenidon and Eredhion saw their mates. But I... I saw you. I saw you in battle with the Balrog and in war and in peace. I saw your death and your rebirth. You, my cherished one, _are_ Glory. You are honor. Your people see you as one of their height of achievements, the very best of the very best, the penultimate Elven Warrior. You command respect and awe!"

Harry by this time had to look away in fear of blushing at his near fangirl moment. He truly, deeply respected and revered his mate - both as an incredible person and an unparalleled warrior. Not many could go with the flow in battle under such bizarre and intense circumstances, especially when strange people appear from nowhere and cause a bond to flare to life within one's own soul.

Glorfindel sat, stunned into silence, that his mate had seen his life and held such reverence for him. He could admit that he had been shocked when he had noticed his mate in battle. It was the reason why he nearly received a fatal wound, if not for Ithilwen. Having his mate beside him in battle had been immensely frightening, his own instincts to protect his mate nearly overwhelming, but his experience and warrior instincts re-emerged when he saw that his mate was a warrior as well. A powerful warrior, judging from the way he efficiently decimated the enemy. He was initially concerned at the anger that Demon held for the Istari, but after hearing what his mate had told the wizard, he agreed with him. Then, the power it took to move him and his comrades away from Helm's Deep and into the peaceful woods was awe-inspiring... then with his tents...! He knew Gandalf was powerful but not even he could perform such a feat. So, to learn that his mate thought of him as Glory personified was astounding and deeply humbling.

A smile quirking his lips, Glorfindel watched his adorable mate look away to compose himself, but the young man was failing if the red creeping up his slender neck towards his cheeks was anything to go by. Standing gracefully, Glorfindel moved to stand in front of Harry and knelt before him, taking his mate's face in his hands to stall any words that would have come flowing out. Meeting the shy, verdant gaze, he kissed Harry's forehead, then spoke in hushed tones.

His voice deep with sincerity and gentleness, he said, "You, my precious mate, humble me with your words and reverence. From the little you have told me and the little I have observed, I believe your achievements on par with if not far surpassing mine. It is not you who should hold reverence for me, but the other way around...and I do. You saved far more people today than I. You gave my brethren and I a place to reconnect with nature after all of the bloodshed, and you did so without any hesitation. Not only that, but you are my mate. My MATE. You are my saving grace in this world that was fast becoming dull and gray. I dearly wish to protect you and shelter you from the evils of the world, but I gave you my word that I wouldn't and I shall not fail it. I will, however, stand beside you every step we take, unto eternity," Glorfindel told his mate, tenderly wiping with his thumbs the few tears that spilled forth.

Harry trembled beneath the loving hands. "Just ...protect me from the dark. And, maybe, love me?" Harry whispered, thinking achingly of a scared and lonely boy in his cupboard wishing for a protector.

"Always," Glorfindel promised, gently connecting their lips. All further questions and discussion could wait as he felt those soft lips moving tentatively against his own. There were centuries ahead of them for conversation, and for once Glorfindel was grateful for that truth. This moment was for loving. There would be time to talk later. Yes, there would be time.


	4. Chapter 3

It was the sense of contentment that nudged him awake. Harry was rarely happy about being asleep. Sleep and he were not on particularly good terms with each other. Too much of Harry's slumber was spent combatting memories and nightmares that he tried to keep locked behind his occlumenic walls. Despite Snape's enthusiastic and violent efforts at the behest of both his masters, Harry had become exceedingly proficient at the art of Occlumency (and later, Legilimency); however, he found that hiding memories from invaders was very different from hiding them from himself. His subconscious persisted in refusing him complete escape from the tragedies and traumas that had plagued his life, opting to ensure his sanity by forcing him to deal with the memories during sleep. As a result, Harry was usually reluctant to sleep and he was never, ever comfortable and content while doing so. Awaking refreshed from sleep was a foreign concept; he generally relied on meditation and an occasional dose of caffeine or pepper-up to keep him alert.

Until now.

_Flashback_

Harry had no recollection of being drawn to his feet by his gloriously tender mate. As Glorfindel kissed him, he had mere moments to realize that his limited experience with kissing Cho Chang had utterly misled him as to what a kiss could actually be. Strong, calloused hands cupped his face and talented lips took his in a loving, devastating kiss. To the newly-bonding mates, there literally was nothing in existence outside of themselves and slowly awakening passion and wordless pledges and promises. As the need for air forced them to reluctantly part, Glorfindel pressed several small, tender kisses to Harry's cheeks and forehead before tucking Harry's head beneath his chin and wrapping him securely in strong arms. Slightly dazed by the intensity of the moment, they belatedly heard the enthusiastic wolf whistles from the twins.

Blushing lightly, Harry took Glorfindel's hand and led him out of the central room and down to a private suite set slightly apart from the other rooms, with a small foyer leading to the curtained entry. Holding the curtain aside for the tall blond to enter, he flashed a universally-recognized finger at the raucously applauding brothers right before he let the silencing curtain fall. Turning somewhat shyly in the sudden silence to look at the elf, he was shocked into silence at the sight of tall, golden, muscular, incredibly sexy Glorfindel efficiently shedding his armor, peeling off his tunic, pulling off his boots in what seemed to be a remarkably fast, graceful dance. Swallowing nervously, his mind struggled to form actual thoughts again as he was overwhelmed with the sheer, intoxicating presence of his mate's sculpted chest, muscled shoulders and arms, and toned stomach; skin tight leather pants leaving nothing to his already fevered imagination as they clung lovingly to strong thighs and calves. Blushing uncontrollably, Harry's eyes focused on Glorfindel's muscled, masculine ass as the elf turned to put his armor on a hook, and when the elf turned back to face him, Harry's mouth went dry. Lovingly molded by the tight leather pants, there was no question or doubt that his glorious elven mate was as masculine and virile as an elf could ever possibly be.

Heavy-lidded, slightly frightened brilliant green eyes trailed up his mate's body to meet a heated, hazel gaze. Licking his lips nervously as he stared at his mate, he was immediately taken into Glorfindel's arms and pressed comfortably against his broad, solid, _naked_ chest. Inhaling deeply of the warm clean scent that was Glorfindel, Harry felt his burgeoning apprehension melt away in the sheer _rightness_ of the contact. This person was his other half, his true mate, his forever love. There was nothing to fear in his arms – or in his bed.

Glorfindel had lived millennia. Over those centuries, his lovers had numbered in the hundreds, possibly even a thousand or more. He was by no means a casual lover, but to have even one new lover every fifty years still equated to what would surely be a staggering number of people to his enchanting young mate. He knew instinctively that Marcaunon understood and accepted him completely; the young man's passionate recitation of how he had witnessed Glorfindel's life and loved him for it all still echoed in the warrior's mind. Despite all of his past lovers and all of his undeniable sexual prowess, Glorfindel was undone by the knowledge that this single day with his Marcaunon pushed all the others to fade into unimportant history. This young man with his old soul was, now and forever, the center of Glorfindel's world. When Marcaunon had let the curtain fall and silenced the loud amusement of the redhaired twin devils in the kitchen, his young love's slight hesitation at watching him undress and the shy desire in the brilliant green eyes looking up at him through thick, black lashes were simply too enticing for the stalwart elf. He swept his mate into his arms without a second thought, immediately finding and giving comfort in the shared warmth and humming bond between them.

Running battle-hardened hands comfortingly over the young man's muscular back, Glorfindel closed his eyes briefly in contentment as he felt strong arms wrap around his waist and smiled gently into the night-black hair that drifted around his face as the young man again tucked his head beneath Glorfindel's chin. Truly, even in this, they seemed made for each other; they fit together perfectly, easily, automatically. Rubbing his face gently into the ebon tresses, Glorfindel quietly spoke. "What troubles you, little one?"

He smiled in triumph at Marcaunon's indignant, "I'm not little!" and gazed down at the young man who had pulled back a bit to glare up at the taller warrior. Steadfastly ignoring the fact that he was, in fact, looking up at the smirking elf, Marcaunon eventually huffed in irritation and tucked his head back under Glorfindel's chin. "Fine. You can call me 'little one' if I can call you 'Glory' – but _only_ you."

Nodding in agreement, Glorfindel tightened his arms around his Marcaunon and said again, "Agreed, little one. Now, what troubles you?" Marcaunon turned his pinkening face directly into the warm skin of Glorfindel's chest and was quiet for a few moments. Giving him time, the elf simply held him, continuing to run comforting hands in gentle circles on the young man's back. Eventually, Marcaunon mumbled something that Glorfindel heard only due to his superior elven hearing. "I'm just … I'm not very … I've never – been – with anyone before." And in an even quieter voice, "I don't know what to do. I'm afraid I'll disappoint you."

Breathing in sharply to try to control his sudden, shocked arousal at the abashed admission, Glorfindel's arms tightened possessively around the younger warrior. He pressed a hard, claiming kiss against Marcaunon's temple and swayed gently with the young man while he struggled for control over the surge of lust that had swept through him at the realization that this exquisite, precious, surprising, incredibly desirable young man he held against his chest was untouched by any other lover. Marcaunon was HIS mate, and would be so in every sense of the word.** Only Glorfindel** would ever have the privilege of making love to Marcaunon. Elves, if blessed with a rare and precious true-mate, were entirely monogamous, and although Marcaunon was not elf but Istari, Glorfindel felt the certainty in his soul that theirs was to be a union of tremendous love, fidelity, devotion and unparalleled passion.

For his part, Marcaunon was pressed tightly against Glorfindel, and felt his mate's body react to his embarrassed confession. He had expected laughter, reassurance, perhaps commiseration or even a little patronization at the knowledge that Marcaunon was, in fact, a virgin – what he hadn't expected was to feel, quite literally, his warrior's desire grow. Glorfindel's overwhelming masculinity was slowly shutting down Harry's higher brain functions as he felt the elf's manhood lengthening, thickening, hardening, against Harry's stomach as he was pressed tightly to his fiercely aroused mate.

They stood together, breathing, swaying, giving and seeking comfort and control. Eventually, Glorfindel began to speak, his normally smooth, deep voice rendered rough with emotion and need. "Meleth-nin, my beloved …. You cannot know what you do to me, not truly. You feel and see the responses of my body, but if you could see my heart…!" The shaken warrior closed his eyes briefly, reaching for the words he needed to comfort the roiling confusion of emotions he felt in his young mate. "Little one, you think your purity is for some reason cause for embarrassment. I'm guessing that you feel worry that you will somehow be a disappointment?" He pulled his mate slightly away for a moment, in order to look down and into his face. The brief glimpse before Marcaunon reburied his face in Glorfindel's chest was wonderfully endearing to the jaded warrior. Smiling in fond amusement, the elf continued, "How can you not know that your innocence and purity in matters of love and desire are nothing less than a priceless gift to me? Marcaunon, you are my mate. MINE. You could have been a skilled courtesan and I would have loved you regardless, but for you to come to me untouched, unclaimed by any other, to give yourself to me alone, to learn the joys and pleasures of your body and of lovemaking with me …. Beloved little one, you could give me no other gift forever and I would still count myself blessed every day."

As Marcaunon slowly pulled his head back from the bare, silken chest and raised his brilliant eyes to meet Glorfindel's loving gaze, time seemed to pause and hold its breath as words were weighed, sincerity was measured, and unspoken promises were offered and accepted. When Marcaunon reached up and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mate's mouth, time resumed its normal pace – but for the warrior elf and the warrior Istari, a profound change had occurred. And again, Glorfindel found himself in the unusual position of being grateful for having so much time stretched before him – before **them**.

Words were unnecessary in their mutual understanding that this night, despite burgeoning passion, was for rest and comfort. With shared caresses and loving assistance from a fascinated blond elf, Harry found himself divested of his clothing, Glorfindel's leather pants following his own to the floor, and, after a quick visit to the attached en suite, tucked carefully into the large, comfortable bed. He was dimly surprised to find himself easily drifting off to contented sleep with a large, warm, loving, _naked_ elf wrapped protectively around him.

oooooooooooooooooo

As awareness slowly tickled at the edges of consciousness, Harry's first sleepy sensation was of safety. Once he had managed to isolate and name the feeling, he slowly catalogued the various points and sensations that led to this unusual state: warmth, heartbeat, strength, comfort, bond … His eyebrows crinkled a bit before his eyes flew open in sudden comprehension. Glorfindel!

Blinking slowly in the subdued lighting of their room, Harry smiled slightly and relaxed into the secure embrace of his bondmate. He was lying on his side in the king-size bed, and spooned up behind him with one arm beneath his head and one wrapped snugly under his arm and across his chest, was a naked and marvelously warm Glory. Relishing the peace of the moment, Harry breathed in the clean, masculine scent and protective, loving aura of his very own elven warrior. Amused at his whimsical thoughts, Harry rubbed his cheek lightly against the silken strength of the arm which was his pillow and basked in Glorfindel's gentle strength; the large, firm body pressed against him from shoulders to calves; smooth, bare skin warming his naked back; steady heartbeat thumping in concert with his own; clean, deep breaths stirring his hair; strong, tender hand slowly caressing his stomach … He tensed briefly as a soft, masculine chuckle drifted against his ear. He had been so lost in sensation he hadn't noticed Glory awakening, too.

Harry shifted slightly as he felt his Glory's arm tighten around his torso, tugging him gently onto his back. Slightly panicked, Harry's eyes flew open as he suppressed his automatic flight reaction, and his alarmed green eyes met and locked with the compassionate hazel gaze. With a slightly sheepish smile, Harry relaxed into his love's embrace and shrugged dismissively. "Sorry," he offered quietly.

Glorfindel dropped a soft kiss onto Harry's nose. "You have no reason to be, melanin. It was a completely understandable reaction for a warrior." Seeing that Harry was still chagrined, he added with a wry smile, "Now, if you had continued the natural reaction and raised your knee suddenly, THEN you would owe me an apology!" He watched, amused, as Harry mentally traced their positioning and realized that his leg was resting between Glorfindel's own, his thigh pressed firmly against his mate's groin. Color flooded Harry's cheeks as he realized that they had both awakened with the standard, pressing problem that most virile men experienced first thing in the morning.

Harry's thoughts stuttered to an abrupt halt as he lost them in a whirl of embarrassment and desire. Dropping his gaze, he bit his lip and once again felt horribly naïve as the memories from the previous night played in his mind. In response, Glorfindel tapped him lightly on the nose with a gentle, admonishing finger, then dropped soothing kisses upon his nose and across his cheeks to press a deeper, more arousing kiss upon the slightly frowning lips. He persisted in his efforts till Harry was once against smiling up at him. Resting his forehead upon his mate's and gazing into his viridian eyes, Glorfindel smiled back.

As they simply breathed together in the small, tender moment of their first morning as mates, Harry's magic warmed and swirled around them. Glorfindel's eyes drooped slightly in sensual response as Harry's magic caressed and soothed them both. As Glorfindel pressed another gentle kiss on his lips, as magic and love swirled around and through them, and as the bond strengthened and hummed between them, Harry felt the remaining cracks and fissures of his wounded heart fill up and smooth out. What his Angel and Devils had begun to heal, Glorfindel's love completed. In that moment, Harry was certain that he was finally, truly, on the path he was meant to walk – and he was no longer walking alone.

With hard-won wisdom, Glorfindel recognized and savored the solemnity of the moment for several, long breaths, before deliberately lightening the mood with a cheerful, "We forgot the formalities of awaking together, my mate! Shame on us. Ah, well, so we begin again." And with a hearty, toe-curling kiss, Glorfindel smiled charmingly down upon his now-flustered mate and said, "Good Morning, Marcaunon!"

Laughing up at him, eyes shining with happiness, Harry replied with amusement. "Good Morning Glory! Did you know that a morning glory is a flower in my old world? Um… actually, it's also a euphemism for our mutual … erm …problem ….. " Rolling his eyes at Glorfindel's devilish grin, Harry placed a kiss on Glorfindel's nose. " Did you sleep well?"

"Very well, indeed, my mate. And you?" Glorfindel replied, smoothing Harry's untamed, raven locks from his forehead.

"Same," Harry answered with awe. Glorfindel's eyes narrowed slightly, noting Harry's surprise at a good night's sleep and making a mental note to try to ensure that his mate would no longer dread the night. "I don't think I have ever slept that well," Harry added with a happy smile, content to gaze into his mate's eyes.

"While I would be more than pleased to stay here in bed with you, my love, and perhaps discuss our shared fondness of 'morning glories'," Glorfindel smirked, with a slight roll of his hips that had Harry's cheeks flushing again, "I think it would be wise for us to seek out soap and water. Despite the miracle of your cleaning charm, as you called it, and the convenience of the little 'en suite' there, " he said, nodding to the half-bath attached to their room, "I feel an ever more pressing desire to get thoroughly clean." He was feeling the grime from yesterday all too acutely and was in favor of a long soak, preferably with his mate in very, very close proximity.

Harry was so lost in the sensations Glorfindel caused when discussing 'morning glories' that it took a moment for enough blood to get back above his neck so that he could think. When it did, however, his brow scrunched in displeasure as he joined in Glorfindel's desire to thoroughly bathe. While they were not blood splattered, and the cleaning charm had done its best, they were still left with the unpleasant sensation of being covered in dirt and sweat.

He nodded decisively. "I concur. I know of a hidden spring that is not far from here. Although I spelled the grime away, it just is not as satisfying as a good cleaning." He was looking at Glorfindel's intricate braids and couldn't wait to loosen them and let his fingers run through the soft, golden tresses.

"Truly, that sounds perfect. Shall we dress and grab supplies, or just make a naked run through the encampment?" Glorfindel asked mischievously, hoping to make Marcaunon blush again. He took his time rising to his feet, enjoying the opportunity to slide skin against skin as he held out a hand and helped his mate to stand.

Harry growled teasingly at him, then surprised his mate by wrapping his arms around his waist. He then summoned his pack from its position beside the door, and with a wink at the startled elf, apparated them both directly to a small, lovely spring. Secluded and sparkling, the small spring babbled and sang as it emerged from beneath the mountain, and part of it ran off into a naturally-formed stone basin off to the side that was easily large enough for several people. Stepping away, Harry walked over to the basin's ledge and dropped his pack on the soft, abundant grass before extending his hand over the frigid water. With a casual smirk at his puzzled mate, he watched as steam began to rise from the water as his magic warmed it to the perfect temperature for relieving minor aches and pains. Digging into his pack, Harry pulled out a soft cloth, soap, shampoo and two pairs of lounge pants before glancing at his mate. Smirking at Glorfindel's befuddled expression, he eased himself into the water and sighed in contentment before extending a hand in invitation to his gloriously nude mate.

Glorfindel was once again amazed at the power his mate wielded casually. Although for the most part he had eyes only for his beautiful, tempting mate, Glorfindel did see that this was a lovely area and the flowers and trees were even more abundant and healthier than in any other place he knew of on Middle Earth. It was almost as if this spring was untouched by anyone but them, as if it belonged to them alone.

When his mate slid into the water and beckoned for him, Glorfindel quickly and willingly followed. Settling comfortably close to his beautiful, naked Istari, he let the warmth of the water sink into his grateful muscles. Utterly content, Glorfindel closed his eyes and relished the relaxation. He felt the movement of the water as his mate drifted behind him and sent gentle hands through his hair, releasing the flaxen plaits and running through it as if petting him. He momentarily startled at the rush of warm water being poured over his head, but settled quickly at Marcaunon's reassuring touch. As his mate directed the water to his will and another carefully controlled stream of water soaked his hair, Marcaunon tugged Glorfindel's head back a bit, poured a small amount of a wonderfully fragrant shampoo on his hair, and began to lather it. Surrendering happily to the loving attention of his mate, the ancient warrior felt renewed and deeply cherished. When Marcaunon placed a sheltering hand over Glorfindel's eyes as he rinsed the shampoo from the long, flaxen hair, a lump of emotion formed in the elf's throat. Had he ever been treated so tenderly? Had he ever felt so beloved?

For his part, Harry was reveling in the freedom to express his love and devotion without fear of having his emotion used against him. He was humbled at the greater warrior's trust in him, knowing that the elf would not normally allow himself such vulnerability. He was naked, leaning back with eyes closed, bare throat exposed, a known warrior at his back – and he was completely calm. The message could not have been clearer: he trusted Harry completely.

Glorfindel let himself drift, utterly enraptured as the gentle massaging of his scalp and careful ministrations cleansed his body of tension along with the grit and grime of the prior day. As he felt the fall of water rinse his hair a final time, he started to sit back up to complete his bathing when he felt a warm rough hand slick with foam moving smoothly along the long muscles and strong planes of his body, cleansing and massaging in a single action. He could not prevent the soft groan of pleasure as tension he hadn't even been aware of was eased from his body by the magical hands of his fated one. Once more, he felt the water sliding down his body, rinsing away the soap, relaxing most of his muscles but building tension of a different kind.

Groaning softly again, this time in response to the heavy arousal Marcaunon had summoned to turgid attention, Glorfindel sensed his mate's retreat. Opening his eyes, Glorfindel turned around to see Marcaunon dipping his head beneath the water soaking his hair. Emerging with water streaming from his body, he did not see Glorfindel's heated stare as he began to lather his own hair. Ducking under again to rinse away the shampoo, he resurfaced to the intent, darkening gaze and close proximity of a very large, muscular, handsome, naked and deeply aroused mate. Trapped by Glorfindel's predatory approach, he felt his own desire tighten and coil low in his belly, and his breathing hitched in response as his mate's mouth paused mere inches from his own, hazel eyes sweeping his body and declaring ownership.

"Will you allow me the same pleasure of washing your body, my love?" Glorfindel asked huskily, relishing the delightful shiver that ran down Marcaunon body. It wasn't a request.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Back at the camp…

"So there we were in the Forbidden Forest about to be attacked by a giant spider when Marcaunon appears out of nowhere and glares at the thing. Nothing else but glares, and we swear to this day, this very day, that the spider starts shrinking in fear and bows before scurrying off," Fred was telling everyone.

George snorted and added dryly, "And don't forget the part where- instead of being properly chastised with that same glare-we sidled right up next to him and said, 'Dear Brother, we need to work on your temperament."

The younger Elves laughed freely, while the older ones chuckled as they cleaned their weapons and clothes. They had seen the glare that Demon had given Gandalf and could easily imagine the scene.

"Hmmm, yes, but you do remember the week after?" Fred asked his twin, gaining the Elves attention once more.

Shivering, George answered emphatically, "Merlin, yes. Creepiest week ever!"

One of the Elves asked, "Why was it 'creepy'?" They were slowly becoming accustomed to the odd speech of the newcomers, and, in truth, many of them found they enjoyed its vivacity and informality.

"Because in retaliation, our dear brother went around the week smiling cheerily, constantly saying some of the happiest and nicest things, even when he was angry," Fred explained, shivering as well. Their Demon should never do false cheer. It was disturbing.

"How is that creepy?" the same Elf asked, "Wouldn't that be good practice? He was working on his temperament, yes?"

The Twins were saved from answering by the appearance of a thoroughly sated Luna and a smug Haldir. Disregarding the looks of amusement and envy, although Haldir did cast narrow-eyed glares of warning at those who seemed most envious of his luscious mate, Luna blithely answered the bewildered elf's question. "Marcaunon was never the happiest person; by the time he was just two years old, he had already seen horrors enough to spoil the disposition of the happiest of beings. There has not been a single year in his entire life that did not add to his burden, his pain and his sorrow."

At the shocked expressions on the surrounding warriors, Luna smiled somewhat sadly. "I do not tell you this for you to pity him; he would not appreciate that at all. I tell you so that you may understand him and us. You are now our kin. It is your right to know about your family. I'm afraid that of us four, none of us came from the happiest of lives; we only became who we truly are – and a real family – when we pledged to stand together as siblings against a world that scorned and reviled us." At that, Haldir wrapped his arms around the willowy blond woman and pulled her close. Tugging lightly on her long hair, he said strongly, "It is not just you four alone anymore. You stand united with the Elven Nation as kin, and I strongly suspect you will have more friends of other races than you may know what to do with." Luna bumped her head lightly against her mate's shoulder, and then looked at her devils. They were standing blank-faced and stern, in a posture unusual to the normally jovial and mischievous pair. Haldir followed her gaze, and straightened abruptly as he spoke to them with warmth, "I do not know who your mates are, you fiery troublemakers, but I do know this. You are my family now. My kin. You will never stand unsupported again, kin to one elf is kin to all elves."

And as the redhaired devils relaxed a little and began to smile, Haldir added mischievously, "Unless your mate is a dwarf. Then you're on your own!"

As the laughter faded, Luna resumed her explanation as to why Demon should never smile falsely. "As I'm sure you can gather, there is a reason his battle name is Demon, just as ours are Angel and Devils. We, his family, only saw his true smiles and laughter. He normally either glares or scowls at everyone else or keeps his face devoid of any emotion, so to see him with a false smile plastered on his face, readily complimenting everyone, was scary… and painful… and just wrong! He also learned the gift of 'Allure', and employed it ruthlessly to torment us. So, within the week, the twins had caved, begging him to return to his normal temper and swearing to never again interfere with how he expresses himself. Fortunately, Marcaunon let the false smile drop, " - ("like a brick on my head," interjected a rueful devil) -"and said, 'let this be your lesson.' Ever since then the twins haven't commented on his temperament, except to express approval."

Smiling at the confused faces, Luna gracefully sat down, pulling her willing mate with her so she could lean on him. The others didn't understand, not yet. To them, the concept of someone showing false cheer was – although not exactly sincere – in no way frightening. They would learn.

Fred had opened his mouth to start another story when he sensed Harry's presence and called out, "Hey Marcaunon! Our comrades the Elves don't believe that you shouldn't do false cheer."

"Oh? Been telling stories?" Harry asked as Harry and Glorfindel appeared from the tree line, clad only in matching black lounge pants, looking refreshed, happy and clean.

Luna grinned rather devilishly for an angel, and airily offered the comment, "My goodness, you two! You're so clean you almost sparkle! Had a good bath?"

The twin devils caught on immediately. "Oy, Glorfindel! How on earth – or, well, Middle Earth, I suppose – did you get our little demon so squeaky clean? Close-up personal inspection?"

In response to the snickers and knowing looks of the gathered warriors, Glorfindel merely raised his eyebrows and offered a wide grin that was all teeth. A couple of the younger elves flinched back from the truly frightening demonstration of a scary smile. He glanced at Marcaunon, who seemed to be handling the teasing well, despite the blush in his cheeks that Glorfindel hoped he never mastered. Catching his mate's eye, he said, "Appearance is important to military leaders. We decided to err on the side of caution, purely for the sake of the troops, of course."

At the derisive laughter and cat calls from the raucous warriors and his laughing family, Marcaunon aimed a truly demonic smile into the crowd and said, "It was in our best interest to make sure we were very, very clean. That's our story and we're sticking to it!" His smile turned genuinely loving and amused at Luna's lighthearted laughter. Turning back to the twins, he prompted, "So, you were saying before Ithilwen so rudely interrupted for comments on our hygiene?"

Fred immediately continued with the original conversation, "We were simply telling stories about you, dearest Demon."

"Just the innocent ones, like the acromantula," George expounded, leaning back and grinning their patented prankster smile. He nodded his head toward the once-again doubtful elves and waggled his eyebrows hopefully.

Harry raised his own eyebrow quizzically and glanced towards Fred, whose expression was identical to George's. Rolling his eyes, Harry huffed, "Oh, fine, just this once!" Turning to the Elves, he said, "Eh, this will be a learning experience for you as well."

Harry turned away for a moment to compose and relax his face and center himself. Once he was sure he could perform it flawlessly, he called up his Allure and faced the Elves, noticing his mate had gone to stand supportively by his brothers. Offhandedly, he decided he loved him just a little bit more for that.

The Elves were waiting and watching, still doubtful but curious as to why the twins and Ithilwen all said that a false smile from Marcaunon would be creepy. Then, they saw it. Some of the older elves actually took a couple of retreating steps backward; others held their ground – reluctantly. Yes, indeed; it was – as the newcomers so aptly described – creepy.

From the somewhat dour and dark-hearted Demon with whom they had become familiar, Marcaunon's whole demeanor changed. His smile was stunningly happy; his very aura sparkled with brightness. Suddenly, from a rather frightening warrior who commanded respect, with this smile he seemed to cast a net and draw people to him like bees to a flower – or a Venus flytrap. He seemed to entice the younger Elves to come forward, trapped by his allure, while the elder Elves saw the sharp teeth in the sweet smile and edged away. As it continued, the pull became so strong that a few of the younger elves walked forward almost as if in a trance. The youngest of the small group was utterly enchanted, and wanted to give the smiling young man something – anything – to keep him happy. "Marcaunon, good afternoon, would you like some tea?" he asked hopefully.

Still smiling, Harry replied with a smooth voice that was laced with happiness, "Good Morning, I would love some breakfast, but please do not strain yourself, I can get it myself. Thank you, though; you are very kind and gracious."

The Elf blushed and looked away coyly. The freaked-out elder warriors shuddered as the young enchanter's old, weary eyes belied the charming artifice they beheld. As Harry dropped the façade and once again became the man they had met the night before, he quirked an inquiring eyebrow and glanced at the twins. For their part, they were laughing with vindicated glee as the older warriors – particularly his mate- stared at him in mixed awe and horror. The younger elves, those who had been caught in the allure, were looking away sheepishly.

"I concede the point. That was actually rather frightening. Even though I _knew_ you had no interest in me and I _knew_ you are Glorfindel's mate and that he would string me up by my testicles if I even considered flirting with you, it didn't matter. You smiled like that, and I was the only person in the world," the young Elf admitted, deeply disturbed, voicing the thoughts of the other younger Elves.

"Marcaunon, melanin, please never use or direct that towards me," Glorfindel requested, cautiously walking over to him. He felt the word 'creepy' was a gross understatement; it was frightening how his mate had become someone else entirely – someone with a deeply disturbing lure.

Sensing Glorfindel's unrest, Harry immediately turned to him and touched his hand. "Of course not, beloved. None of you would have ever even seen it if my devils hadn't suggested it. In truth, it's sort of a mix of manipulation and magic; it's something I learned when I was researching. Besides, Glorfindel, such a thing would not work on you. You're my mate; you will always see my truth. Besides, I already know you'd give me anything I truly wanted anyway!" Harry replied cheekily, summoning some tea the twins had prepared earlier. Glorfindel smiled in unabashed agreement; it was true, he would do anything within his power for his mate. The listening elves did not taunt him for that; given their own true-mate, they would do the same.

"Is that something others can do? I can see the strategic advantages, although I agree wholeheartedly with Sidhenidon and Eredhion; that was creepy," Haldir stated from his spot as Luna's backrest.

"Hmmm, one never reveals his secrets, and the only ones that find it creepy as it's happening are the ones that see past my aura and tone, and instead look into my eyes," Harry replied, sipping his tea.

The older Elves agreed: the haunted, weary warrior's eyes did not match the façade's vibrant, innocent look. Truly, the contrast was twisted.

Suddenly, the congenial atmosphere deepened and a startled Haldir saw his bright Angel assume the far-seeing gaze he sometimes witnessed on the Lady of the Woods. When she spoke, her tone was slightly hollow.

"Demon, the White Bee is remorseful, while the King of Men is conflicted. The King of Horses is angry at the White Bee and has sent his own to look for us, while the two unlikely friends are hoping to run into us. Further, the White that has been blinded by the Dark has sent his own wrackspurts a-hunting," Luna said eerily, vaguely stirring her scalding tea with her pinky. Haldir forcefully pulled her hand away and held her reddened finger in his mouth as his Angel blinked and seemed to return to the present.

Harry frowned sharply before summoning a silvery, slippery-looking cloak. Whirling it around his body, he disappeared. Glorfindel heart a soft 'crack' and immediately knew that Marcaunon was no longer in the camp. Distantly, he noticed that Eredhion had cast some sort of magic upon Ithilwen's burned finger and it was instantly soothed. He tamped down his slight sense of dread at his mate's sudden departure, and turned to the twins for an explanation.

Harry had chosen to apparate to the nearest, highest point and stood a silent sentinel, watching the skies for the hunting spies. There! Off in the distance, Harry saw something that looked like flies, but the closer they came the larger they grew until their shapes solidified into large crows. Eye twitching slightly, Harry waved his hand, redirecting the spies away from his camp and his people.

"So, does this happen often?" Haldir asked his mysterious mate, watching Glorfindel as he stood in shocked concern looking between the twins and the spot where Marcaunon had been sitting before he disappeared.

"Does what happen often?" Luna queried, lifting a dainty eyebrow.

"You say something in riddles and Marcaunon disappears?" Haldir explained tolerantly.

"All the time," George answered.

"In fact only Har- Marcaunon seems to understand Ithilwen fully," Fred continued.

"We can to a degree when we have…," George said next.

"…all of the information," Fred finished.

Glorfindel was reminded of Galadriel, but was thankful – and frankly, surprised - that Ithilwen seemed to actually inform her family of what she was seeing. It was even more encouraging that they seemed to understand what she meant. The Lady of the Wood's legendary secretiveness was a source of great frustration and tension between she and – well, everyone who didn't worship her dainty slippers. Truly, he respected Galadriel, and would even say he loved her as kin, but she held her secrets too closely and often did more harm than good. Glorfindel was fairly certain, based on the little he had gathered about the Light Lord his mate had defeated, that Marcaunon would not appreciate the Lady's fondness for secrets. In fact, he could see each of the four reacting badly to that trait.

Harry reappeared frowning. Sitting down next to his mate, they all looked at him quietly as he considered, waiting for him to speak.

"I think it would be prudent to go see the White Bee as well as the King of Horses tomorrow. I'm sure the King of Men will be there, too. I also think our group and our mates - if they want -should go," Harry finally stated, looking at his mate and family. It was a little past noon, and if this meeting were to happen the next day, they needed to have a quick nooning meal and then get dress robes together for the four of them as well as Glorfindel and Haldir.

Luna nodded in agreement and rose to her feet with Haldir's helpful arm while Fred and George asked in concert, "Battle or Lord?"

Grinning viciously, Harry answered, "Lord and Lady status, if you will, my dears."

Luna tugged a bewildered Haldir back to the tent, the Twins following closely grinning, while Harry spoke quickly and quietly to Glorfindel before he turned and began walking to the tent as well. Glorfindel paused a moment to speak to the troops.

"You are to stay here, rest and relax. You are going to need it as the final battle draws close." Receiving various nods, Glorfindel picked up a plate of food for he and his mate and quickly made his way back to the tent where his mate was currently getting dressed.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

**At Helm's Deep…**

"What do you mean, you can't find them?" King Theodin thundered. He had sent some of his more rested scouts to find their saviors and the departed elves almost immediately after they had vanished, only to have them return today empty-handed.

"We can't find them anywhere, my King. We sent riders in all directions and there are no traces to follow, " the soldier reported.

Rubbing his brow, Theodin said abruptly, "Dismissed." Turning to scowl at Gandalf and Aragorn, Theodin pointed an accusing finger, "It's your fault, and you both damn well know it. How will they know when the final battle begins? And how will they know I seek to thank them?"

"Theodin, they have been sent by the Valar; I'm sure they will know. Surely, you can thank them later. I would caution giving them the time and space they desire rather than seeking them out before they are ready. They are not ones to be commanded; rather, they do the commanding," Gandalf answered calmly, trying to placate the incensed king.

"Your revelation about that fact comes to you painfully late, old man! They would still be here if you hadn't interfered so thoughtlessly and arrogantly. Most of us had seen the Elves talking with the Red Devils and quietly keeping a comfortable distance from Glorfindel and Haldir and the other two. They didn't even react when that shimmering shield went up around them. If that isn't a clue, then I don't know what else would have been," Theodin stated, his anger rising with the Istari's placating manner.

Legolas and Gimli were off in a corner of the hall, observing and commenting on the goings-on of the men.

With a puff of pipe, Gimli grunted, "I wanted to meet those red-headed fellows anyway. Now I really want to meet the whole lot, if they can cause this much uproar!"

"Indeed. I think Elrond's twins are going to be disappointed that they choose to sit this battle out. All this mayhem and they aren't even causing it," Legolas added smirking. He rubbed absently at his linen-covered chest; there was a nagging ache there that just would not go away.

"You know, I think you and I may need to work together to beat those red-headed axe wielders," Gimli stated, pointing with his pipe between the two of them.

"Or perhaps I will team up with one of them against you?" Legolas teased his short-tempered friend.

"That would be unheard of! We're battle comrades, we need to stick together!"

"True, but did you see how tall they were? They could see over the wall," Legolas pointed out gleefully, causing Gimli to huff and mutter about Elves and Dwarves and how those red-headed fellows should stick together. Legolas just laughed, paying surface attention to Gimli and his surroundings, while inwardly considering the odd pull he had been experiencing since the Four had first appeared.

ooooooooooooooo

**Back at the camp…**

The Elves were resting and talking amongst themselves while Fred and George were airing out their robes and planning pranks. Luna and Haldir were busy making robes fit for Haldir for tomorrow since he had not brought any of his own dress clothes, yet was now mated to a rather powerful Lady Istari of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter - not that he or anyone else from Arda would know, but it was the principle of thing.

Harry and Glorfindel, on the other hand, while accomplishing similar tasks, were also discovering some hidden truths and a surprising alliance.

"So why must we wear our formal clothes as opposed to battle gear?" Glorfindel asked, picturing his formal dress and letting his mate see the image. Truly, his mate's ability to touch his thoughts was an intimacy he had not anticipated, but he could see definite uses for the skill – both tactical and prurient.

Harry pulled out one of his own sets of clothing and began modifying it till it matched the image he pulled from Glorfindel's mind. Finished, he said, "Try this on. The reason for formalwear is so that we give an even stronger and more daunting impression. They have already seen our prowess on the battle field, so now let us show our nobility. We are not peasants; we are of higher rank than all of them – possibly even equal to the King, considering our additional status as Istari." Stepping back for a moment, he looked Glorfindel up and down assessingly. " Hmm, I need to adjust the length a bit. Bloody long-legged elf! Hold on a sec."

As Harry corrected the fit of the legging, taking advantage of the opportunity to admire his mate's excellent physique, Glorfindel asked, "Nobility?"

Snorting, Harry answered, "You didn't think your mate was a common Istari, did you?"

Glorfindel flushed slightly in mild consternation at Harry's question, because for an ancient elf, he really hadn't put much thought at all into anything about his mate except how delightful and delectable he was since they entered their room last night. He wrenched his wandering mind back to the conversation as Harry continued knowingly, "I'll have you know, my dear Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, that, too, I am a Lord in my own right - to several different Noble Houses, in fact, but I'm going to make you wait to hear which houses."

Seeing his mate still somewhat abashed, Harry snickered as he walked over towards his battle robes, searching through the pockets for his emerald-encrusted dagger that would nicely complement his mate's outfit, when he heard and felt the crinkle of parchment beneath his hands. With a start, he abruptly recalled the owl that had crashed through the window and delivered the letter just as they had begun the countdown to their departure to Arda. Removing the thick parchment, he broke the wax seal, which he recognized as the Gringott's Bank sigil, and unfolded the letter. Glorfindel watched as his mate's eyebrows slowly rose and a look of complete shock crossed his face.

_To the Honorable Lord Harry James Potter-Black- Gryffindor-Slytherin-Emrys (aka Demon, aka Lord Marcaunon of the House of the Golden Flower),_

_We, the goblins of Gringotts, have both a request and an offer to present to you._

_As you may or may not know, we, the goblins of Earth, are refugees from Middle Earth. We are known to the Elder Races as 'The Lost Tribe', having departed Arda millennia ago during the first war of the One Ring, when our brethren willingly accepted the slavery to and poisonous magics of Sauron, the Dark Lord of that time. To this day, we who left remain appalled that our own brethren would become no better than Orcs. We who would not submit were also not trusted, understandably so, by the races that fought against the Dark, and neutrality was never an option. Thusly, we left. We were aided in our emigration by the very gods who are even now bringing you and your siblings to Arda. We knew when we left that some of us would eventually return to our homeworld, to fulfill a prophecy that spoke of a Demon and his Clan arriving in Middle Earth to turn the tides of war against the return of Sauron._

_For the record, my Lord, I do apologize for even mentioning a prophecy, knowing full-well how and why you dislike them. And yes, I do call you 'my Lord,' as do my brethren. _

_The time has come for our return to Arda, and we will do so as your Army. Some of our people will remain on Terra, having found a true home here, particularly since you and your siblings defeated the dictators of our day. Those who remain will serve as emissaries between our worlds and our peoples, and will provide any and all of your needs and those of Angel and the Devils. The small aid we gave you on this world was necessary, although we desired to assist you more fully. Our intervention would not have allowed you the victory and the destiny you now enjoy. But now, our time has come. We have a purpose, a noble purpose, and are grateful for it._

_It is time for the Lost Tribe to return. We will do so at your behest, and at your command. We – I – beseech you, my Lord, grant us this gift._

_To do so, simply remove the attached medallion, sign your name upon it with magic in Parseltongue, and place a drop of your blood on it. This will activate the medallion, and you will be able to speak with me directly should you wish to. This will give you an opportunity to arrange for any additional supplies or actions, and the medallion will always serve you in this manner. Although I myself will return with my Tribe, there will always be one of my Clan here on Terra serving your interests and those of your family._

_When you are ready for your army, place another drop of your blood upon this parchment. With the blood, the parchment will become a unique form of portkey known only to my people – not even our former brethren of Arda are familiar with this magic. Upon placing the parchment on the ground, drop your blood upon it and ensure that no one and nothing is within 400 meters of the parchment. A magical gate will form, a true portal between our worlds, and from that gate our Army will emerge in full battle regalia, prepared for immediate engagement in war. I am certain you will puzzle over the logistics of how this is done, and I will share that with you freely in person. For now, simply know that there is a time-displacement between our worlds, and although we of Terra will have adequate time to assemble and depart, there will be no delay at all for you between the activation of the gate and our return. If, as you activate the gate, you say in Parseltongue 'Aid is welcome', we will emerge from the gate in full battle rage. If you say in Parseltongue 'Your presence is needed', we will emerge in formal military procession, prepared to impress. I'm certain you understand my meaning._

_My Lord, you may well be surprised at the numbers and the skills of your new Army. Our Tribe has flourished beneath the surface of this borrowed world, and over half of us wish to return to the land of our forebearers. We will serve you well._

_Please, Lord Potter, bring us home in triumph to redeem our race and avenge our losses. Thank you for your time._

_Yours in Honor and Profit,_

_King Ragnok IV _

To say that Harry was shocked would be a severe understatement. He was stunned, floored, flabbergasted! He was … he…. well, he really needed to sit down. Immediately.

With his concerned mate's strong arm wrapped around his waist and guiding him carefully to his bed, Harry tried to gather his stalled thoughts and re-start his mental processes. He allowed Glorfindel to seat him on the bed, vaguely registering that the golden-haired elf was crouching in front of him, rubbing his hands to stimulate the blood and pull him from shock. He did not even hear it when the worried warrior raised his voice in alarm, calling for someone to get Angel and the Devils right damn now! He did not feel the hand running through his hair, or hear his twins questioning Angel, or feel the cool hand upon his cheek as the serene, beautiful woman reassured his mate and his family.

No, Harry was literally lost in thought. One, single thought, endlessly repeating in his overwhelmed mind, growing progressively lighter and brighter as his hope and confidence rose.

"This changes everything."


	5. Chapter 4 The Devil's Own

CHAPTER 4 – The Devils' Own

As Ithilwen reassured the worried twins that Marcaunon was fine, that he was simply dealing with a fairly profound surprise, Glorfindel was standing a few feet away from the group gathered around his mate. In his hand was the heavy parchment which had precipitated all of this, and on his face was a look of mixed consternation and awe. Although the majority of elves alive today were born as a result of the peace that had fallen when Isildur and Sauron originally fell, Glorfindel and a few others – including Galadriel and Elrond – had personally shed blood and tears during that time. Glorfindel clearly remembered the departure of the Light Goblins, as some now called them. Although the Lost Tribe had fallen into legend like the One Ring, it seemed that they now lived in an era when legends and prophecies were to live again, called forth from the mists of time by a remarkable creature of magic and muscle and bone and bright, green eyes. Truly, his mate was a wonder to him, and Glorfindel felt certain that he would never again fall into tedium, not with Marcaunon in the world.

Glancing up at Haldir's approach, he met the Marchwarden's inquiring gaze and gestured slightly with the open letter. Haldir glanced briefly at it, then commented, "I cannot imagine what a letter could contain that would in any way shock your mate. What can you tell me?" Glorfindel noted with approval that Haldir did not ask for all of the information, nor did he politely pretend that Glorfindel knew nothing. Truly, although Glorfindel was comfortable with all of the nuances and social niceties that came with being a Royal Elf, he felt a deep appreciation for the simpler, more straightforward manners of the warriors. Raising bemused eyes to meet Haldir's quizzical blue, he said with deep irony, "Well, I can definitely tell you that assuming there are no more surprises in life would be remarkably vain and foolish! This much, I have recently learned for certain." At Haldir's wry nod of understanding, he then let fly the arrow, "Also, the Lost Tribe of Goblins is returning to Arda as the Demon's Army."

Watching with a broad grin Haldir's jaw-dropped, bug-eyed reaction – so undignified an expression for such a proper elf! – Glorfindel clapped an encouraging hand upon the stunned elf's shoulder, before returning to his now-blinking mate's side. He heard Ithilwen's airy laughter as she moved to embrace her mate, and pushed the all-important letter into one of the Devil's hands (he really needed to determine which was which of those two!) before sinking down onto the bed next to Marcaunon, wrapping a warm arm around his shoulders and placing a gentle kiss on the young man's temple. He felt laughter bubble up within him as sense returned to his mate's eyes and a long, drawn-out, heartfelt, "Whooooaa!" emerged in two-part harmony from the twins.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Once ascertaining that all six of the newly-formed family was again conscious, coherent and recovered from the shock of the letter and the worry over Marcaunon, the group braved the clustered, worried elven warriors and seated them in the central room for explanation. Glorfindel simply stood in the center of the room, near the remarkable fireplace that had won the appreciative attention of all of the gathered elves, and gave them a brief synopsis of the events that brought the Demon Team to Arda. He left out virtually all of the details shared with him the prior night by his mate, feeling that personal information was not his to share. Rather, he laid it out factually, like a military analysis, and then read aloud the letter that had caused this day's commotion.

Predictably, the gathered warriors greeted the news with disbelieving silence. Most were certain that this was an elaborate joke of some sort, while others wondered how their brilliant general could be so gullible as to believe this nonsense. It took an irritated Marcaunon drawing forth his memories of interactions with the Gringott's Goblins and showing them in what seemed to be a bubble that floated in the room – and didn't _that_ cause its own fair share of amazement! – that eventually led to the skeptical warriors accepting the incredible fact that the Lost Tribe was returning to Arda.

After the ensuing commotion wore off, the small family – now expanded by two mates – gathered around a simple dinner of cold-cut sandwiches and milk, discussing the means and methods by which they would present themselves to make the strongest impression upon the deserving King of Horses and – as the twins disparagingly referred to them - those 'other' guys.

Although he was very much interested in the plans being made by his delectable mate and her darkly-mischievous brothers, the Marchwarden of Lothlorien found himself concerned with other tactical issues – namely, his meal. Surprised at the fact that none of the meats were salted or dried and that the bread was neither journey bread nor the thin, dry 'crackers' used by soldiers in the field, Haldir gave a moan of appreciation as he chewed and swallowed an appreciative bite of his turkey sandwich and asked, "This is wonderful! How are you able to preserve and keep your food fresh and chilled?"

"Magic, of course! We are able to charm a drawer – actually, a box in our case - to stay at a certain temperature. We can keep foods hot or cold, as needed. We cast preserving charms, as well. It is rare indeed to find a witch or wizard eating a less-than-tasty meal," Luna explained easily, daintily eating her sprouts and ham roll. She missed the dark look of memory that crossed Harry's face briefly, but Glorfindel didn't. His heart ached a bit for his heartsore mate. While the young man was strong and healthy now, Glorfindel had not missed the lightly-silver scars that crossed and otherwise marked his mate's beautiful skin, nor had he forgotten the solemn promise in the eyes of Sidhenidon (or was it Eredhion?) when the subject of the young man's childhood was briefly discussed. He was angered at the implications, and furious at the certainties, but now was not the time. He glanced up in surprise at the sharp nudge of a booted foot against his shin and met the understanding smile of one of the twins, as the other winked briefly and turned his devious mind toward keeping the conversation lighthearted.

"It is true indeed that wizardkind appreciates good food, but _no one _enjoys a cold glass of milk like our brother here!" one devil teased.

"Positively fixated on it, he is!" added the other. "Honestly, he likes it more than he likes tea, and he really, really likes a good cuppa!"

"But that's all right, of course. As we all know, growing boys need their milk," the twins teased archly with a leer. Truthfully, they were actively hoping for another of their brother's amusing blushes that seemed to be popping up so often the past day or two. Glorfindel easily discerned their intent – both altruistic and less so – and openly grinned at his mate to watch his reaction.

For his part, Harry merely smirked lightly while sipping his cool chocolate milk, casually flicked his hand to shorten the twins' pants and shirts, and gave an exaggerated reaction of false surprise as the twins squeaked at the sudden wardrobe change. With an innocence clearly belied by the teasing glint in his emerald eye, he then said smugly, "Oh my! Look how you've grown! _Too much_ 'milk', perhaps. _Maybe_ you two should stop drinking _so much milk _or at least slow down on so – _enthusiastically -_sneaking each other's. I know they say warm milk helps a person sleep, but with the quantity you two consume, I'm impressed you ever achieve consciousness!"

Taken aback, Fred and George stared at their smirking brother in utter shock before dissolving into helpless laughter upon each other's shoulders, leaving a wildly giggling Luna to explain to Haldir and Glory – who were lost to the innuendo, having seen only the chocolate and strawberry-flavored milk the four drank – just how 'milk' could be so suggestively funny. Once clarified, Glorfindel's ready grin and easy shrug dismissed any concerns the newcomers had about the elves' reception of the twins' unconventional relationship. Rather, he found he was more amused that his somewhat shy mate could openly joke and tease about sexual matters in the company of others, but blush so enchantingly when they were alone. Filing the information about 'dairy products' away next to his new information about 'morning glories', he focused on the topic change in the conversation, which had shifted away from culinary interests and back to their upcoming arrival at the King of Rohan's keep, Helm's Deep.

"I think we should apparate in front of the doors and bust them open with our magic, startling them with our sudden appearance … like Harry – er, sorry, Marcaunon did in the Great Hall after Creevey sold that picture to Skeeter," George said seriously, elbow resting casually on the table as he pointed his fork in emphasis. The concept of one person having different names for different races was not unusual to the elves; after all, look at how many names young Aragorn had – Aragorn, Strider, Estel, King of Men… It was interesting to both Glorfindel and Haldir how often the four verbally slipped and called each other by their Terran names. It was done so often that both elves found themselves occasionally thinking of the new Istaris as Harry, George, Fred and Luna, as well, although it was clear that the four truly wanted the majority of people from Middle Earth to use their new names. It was not hard to understand their reasoning, either; these four had left a dark and difficult life on an unappreciative world, and wished to become - if not different people – at least _newer_ people on this new world. The two elven mates would respect those wishes, but each was certain that if they sometimes used their new family members' former names, they would be forgiven.

"Why don't we do something like the other schools did during the TriWizard? Those were some impressive arrivals, you must admit! Maybe show off some of our flashier magic?" Fred added, mentally reviewing their pranking material. "Personally, although we are of course going for the bigger impression, I also want to get a little revenge on that sour apple Istari!"

George grinned. "You mean that old fruit? … Don't give me that look, Harry, we all saw the way the nutty old prune looked at your – um – assets!"

Looking quite revolted, Harry reluctantly took up the verbal gauntlet. "Frankly, I think the old man was bananas."

Luna, on the other hand, looked quite delighted as she added her two knuts, "I think he seemed 'berry' nice, for an arrogant wanna-'bee'."

Fred laughed out loud, "Oh, little Luna, that just sounds like sour grapes!"

Exchanging wicked grins, an unspoken accord was reached by the four as Haldir and Glorfindel could only watch in pained amusement. A small silence fell as they all resumed considering their plans for a noteworthy arrival. As Haldir was sitting directly across the table from Marcaunon, he was the first to notice the young leader's deep concentration and to see the slow, somewhat wicked grin cross the darker man's face. Catching Glorfindel's eye, Haldir nodded meaningfully at the warrior's mate.

Turning to look down at Harry's face, Glorfindel raised an eyebrow in contemplation at the absolutely demonic look of happy plotting his young mate wore. The others also turned to look at Harry with happy anticipation, having recognized his 'plotting-run-for-your-life-since-Demon-is-coming-out-to-play' look. The two elves felt a fair amount of trepidation, especially when Harry finally looked up with a dangerously playful gleam and said, "This is what we are going to do…"

For their part, the other elven warriors who had gone to their beds as the sun set on the encampment found themselves wondering and a little alarmed, for despite the silencing curtains, the sheer aura of wickedness generated by the six at the table did not lend itself to a comfortable slumber. As the elven troops tried to hide in sleep, the six plotters stayed up far into the night, planning the ultimate prank on the unsuspecting people staying at Helms Deep.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**The Next Morning….**

Glorfindel and Haldir were outside with their troops, going over tactics and including the warriors on some of the planning that was happening in light of the new tide of war. The two experienced warrior elves were increasingly irritated by the ingenuousness of the younger warriors. 'Surely, even the youngest elf had lived long enough to know that myth and legend always had basis in fact?' a frustrated Haldir thought to himself. The disgruntled Marchwarden answered himself grumpily, 'Apparently not.'

"So, the Legend of the Lost Tribe is _true_?" An irritated Glorfindel thought uncharitably that the starry-eyed warrior currently questioning him would next offer up a wide-eyed 'Really and truly, Adar?' that would definitely earn him the broad side of the greater warrior's sword across the seat of his leggings.

"Yes, I was there when it happened," Glorfindel answered shortly, utterly exasperated that the younger elves just couldn't seem to grasp the fact that legends are not just stories told to elflings at bedtime but are also – at least for elves - actual historical events.

"They are returning since Marcaunon and his family has come?"

"Yes," Haldir answered, seeing his friend's eyebrow twitch. Really he could understand their slowness in the presence of their mates' magic but the need for continual reassurance was starting to aggravate him unbearably. There had been no elflings born in many hundreds of years, so he knew for a fact that no elf here today was actually the innocent childling they were acting like. It was a little nauseating.

"Wha…" the oblivious elf began again, only to trail off and stand mouth agape, looking past the elven leaders to the four regal beings standing behind him at the tent's opening.

Frowning at the blessedly unfinished question, they turned to see what had prompted their reprieve when Haldir and Glorfindel caught first sight of their mates and the devils.

Harry stood regally, dark features and creamy skin showing in sharp relief, the contrast to the others made more intense as the young nobleman stood framed by his remarkable family. His midnight-black, silken robes were enhanced by the black sword that hung at his belt, an exquisite faceted onyx centered on the pommel. One-of-a-kind Lordship rings of his Noble Houses decorated his fingers. On his wrists were two bands of gleaming silver, around which emerald serpents with ruby eyes seemed to wrap and coil. One ear bore several earrings, each of which bore magical enhancements. His brilliant, viridian eyes with their thick, black lashes were further brightened by the black kohl lining them. Long, ebony hair was pulled back into a tail, confined with a simple, silver band, while his bangs and a few loose strands of hair flowed unrestrained to frame his undeniably beautiful features. When he took a step, his robes shifted slightly to reveal black leather pants tucked into black, mid-calf boots with silver buckles up the side. Power and magic coiled and rolled in a palpable aura around the stunning young Istari. To a captivated Glorfindel, Harry looked like a god or a demon – or, perhaps, both.

Poised on his right was an iridescent Luna, wearing an extraordinary robe of pristine white that shone a pale blue with each graceful movement. Her long, white-blond hair was twisted into a complicated knot, with silky strands falling unhindered about her delicate face, adding to her ethereal beauty. Strapped to the curve of her hips on a crisscrossed, looped belt of delicate, mithril chains were two deceptively-dainty short-swords of magically-strengthened white gold, of which each pommel seemed to be lightly coated with sapphire dust. Decorating her ears were earrings of the same style and enchantments as Harry wore. Buttery-soft, white leather pants peeked out from her robes, snugly tucked into knee-high, pale blue boots. Unknown to the elves, none of her clothing was dyed; no, the pale blues and snow whites were natural to the creatures which had freely given the leather. The composed, luminous young woman easily represented the angel for which she was named: serene, otherworldly, and deadly. This Istari would bless you with a smile or slice you apart; regardless of her pristine ensemble.

Standing together, the two extraordinarily beautiful people offered a sharp study in contrasts for their willing admirers. Although united in purpose and by bonds of family, they were visually stunning as polar opposites. Negative to positive. Air and Earth. Feminine and masculine. Light and Dark. Moonlight and Midnight. Angel and Demon. They were ethereal, otherworldly, inescapably extraordinary. And they were framed on either side by purest, darkest fire.

Bordering the two siblings of contrast, Fred on the far left and George on the far right, stood the shockingly virile-looking devils. It was in this moment that the observing elves were sharply reminded that these two were not just amiable tricksters, not by a long shot. These men, and powerful men they most definitely were, towered over their siblings with graceful strength. They were identically dressed in reptilian, dark silver robes with hints of blood red seemingly threaded throughout the scales and sometimes flashing and sparkling here and there as the warrior-Istaris moved. Slung from belts of blackest, forged metal were small but deadly battle axes, each of which had inlaid runes formed with perfect, sparkling rubies. Each of the redhaired Vikings wore earrings identical to Harry's, although their armbands hosted crimson serpents with onyx eyes. Formfitting, soft gray leather pants lovingly hugged powerful, well-built buttocks and thighs and flowed seamlessly into supple, mid-calf boots made of the same silvery reptilian leather as the robes. Spiked, flame-bright hair seemed to glow like lava as it flowed into tips of blackest night. Each of the confident, powerfully-built men showed off strongly-handsome features: straight, well-formed noses, high cheekbones with small hollows beneath, masculine jaws, sensuous lips and bright white teeth as they grinned with dark delight. Straight, flame-red eyebrows and blackest lashes outlined eyes of piercing, sparkling sapphire. It was a shocking revelation to the company of elves that these two, who with their ready smiles and open camaraderie had easily won friendship and respect amongst the warriors, were powerful, masculine, sensual, sexual beings. To elves who had seen virtually all this world had to offer, these two bright yet dark, utterly unusual people were remarkably appealing. In this moment, many suddenly found themselves considering the two, redhaired devils as potential lovers, and there was no elf among them who did not experience a sensual shiver at the thought. Because, as devil-may-care as the twins may seem, it was evident to all that no one would be taking either, or both, of these men as lovers. No, indeed ; these men would be doing all of the taking. In the shocked, still moment of sudden, clear sight, many of the warriors found themselves surprised at the appeal of that revelation. These men – these devils - were alpha males. In every. Possible. Way.

As they stood united, posed with deceptive relaxation in the doorway of the colorful tent, with the magnificent landscape a wonderfully natural and discordant backdrop to the four formally-dressed Istari, there was no one who was not awed at the picture they presented. The elven warriors could not help but be fascinated by and drawn to these delightfully unusual people. Each of the four showed a noble visage: indifferent, impassive and very, very dangerous. They did not adopt the attitude of royalty; rather, they simply _were_ royalty. It was evident in every line, every gesture, everything they did and said and thought. These four, regardless of what may or may not be known about them, were Royal.

Lost in admiration at the sight, there was no one there who would have said, if asked, that the vision they presented could have been improved in any way. Many would have bet against the possibility.

They would have lost.

When Glorfindel and Haldir, both powerful, remote, graceful and aristocratic, otherworldly in a way only True Elves can be, joined the group, standing protectively behind their respective mates, each with a flame-bright devil next to him, those watching could not help but gasp. Together, the six were – indescribable. If the elves that were privy to this moment were lesser beings, they would have fallen to knees pledging their everlasting allegiance or their souls. Many felt – and resisted – the urge, anyway. Such was the power of the moment.

Allowing those gathered another heartbeat or two to gaze as the four in the back each placed a hand on the two in front, Luna and Harry then joined hands. With a nearly-inaudible crack, the godlike group disappeared, leaving almost two-hundred elite Elven Warriors to blink in reaction and slowly, reverently go back to the tasks before them.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**At Helm's Deep**

Seated at long, sturdy tables in the massive Gathering Hall of the fortress-keep known as Helm's Deep, the defenders and inhabitants of Rohan joined with their King in enjoying a lavish, succulent feast in celebration of the recent victory and in honor of those now known as the 'Saviors of Rohan'. In latter days, when he learned of the new appellation, the Warrior-Istari known as Demon would turn to his siblings and mate with a disgusted curl of a sensual lip and utter an exasperated, "WHY does everyone INSIST on such stupid titles?", to which his amused sister Istari would whimsically reply, "At least it isn't hyphenated."

The only person who was not enjoying the Feast was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the King of Rohan himself. Rather than partaking of the beautifully prepared meats and mixed-dishes that his people had joyfully prepared, King Theodin was instead still incensed, still disgusted, and still glaring at an artfully-avoidant Istari and an uncomfortable, somewhat guilty king-to-be. They were watched with interest and amusement by an irreverently disrespectful Dwarven Warrior and a restless, somewhat anxious Elven Prince of the Woodland Realm.

Leaning over carefully to avoid showing more of her generous bosom than was seemly to an overly-attentive group of tipsy horselords, the King's niece Aowyn addressed her irritated Sovereign. "Uncle, the circumstances were extraordinary. Please, let us simply for the moment pretend that it wasn't their fault, and enjoy the meal before us in the company of so many of our people who would not otherwise have been here this day. Please, Uncle? This should be a day of feasting," Aowyn murmured placatingly.

"It _is_ a joyous occasion, I concur. It would be an enjoyable feast indeed - if those who saved us were joining us! If, indeed, they had not had cause to remove themselves from our hospitality before we could even offer it, along with the gratitude of our people!" Théoden grumbled, picking at his food as if it were a chore.

Eomer, Captain of the Horselords, was about to agree with his Uncle and King when the massive doors of the Gathering Hall suddenly burst open and slammed against the solid, stone walls. Diners and servers screamed in reaction, and then shrieked again when a huge, black Dragon with burning, red eyes burst through the open doorway and flowed sinuously around the open space of the huge room. Returning to the gaping entryway, the dragon faced the overwhelmed people and stretched its massive neck upward. Opening huge jaws lined with saber-like teeth, the dragon uttered a thunderous, bone-rattling roar before spitting six fireballs upward toward the ceiling. Streams of fire trailed each as they arced and then began to descend. As they fell, the core of fire in each lengthened and slowed.

The huge dragon uttered another terrifying roar, and with the roar it began to dissolve into thick, black smoke before a sudden, gentle breeze swept the huge room. As the smoke cleared, the six burning lengths of fire coalesced and transformed into six distinct figures.

Gasping for breath in reaction to the incredible, terrifying entrance, it took a few moments before King Theodin, Captain Eomer and the rigidly alert guards realized that they were holding weapons upon the Saviors of Rohan and the two Elves known to the King as Glorfindel and Haldir. With a hasty motion of command, all weapons were withdrawn, and the people straightened from their defensive positions and regained their seats.

Ordering his heartbeat to calm and drawing another deep, steadying breath, the King took in the impressive figures standing in regal and impassive splendor before his people. Their clothing and accessories of finest materials and rarest metals and jewels declared wealth and privilege, and their very bearing declared to all and sundry that these six, powerful people were nobility. Without yet saying a word, they commanded the highest respect – and it was given without hesitation.

King Theodin met Demon's gaze and nodded a greeting of equals. As the dark Istari returned his gaze, both ignoring the attempts of Gandalf to make his way to the King's side, a smooth voice filled with power spoke from nowhere and everywhere and further cowed the stunned and intimidated people.

"Presenting to the King and Court of Rohan, the Lady Angel and her mate Consort Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlorien." Luna and Haldir remained serene and composed, giving the subtle impression that their attendance here was something of an imposition upon them, and bowed their heads in the respectful dip of visiting dignitaries.

"Presenting to the King and Court of Rohan, the Lord Devil and his brother, the Lord Devil," Fred and George remained expressionless as they performed mocking half-bows in perfect unison, fiery sparks leaping from the fingertips of their outspread arms, before offering twin, devilish grins that highlighted their darkly-fiery good looks and caused an intently watching Legolas to draw a sharp breath in reaction. Next to him, Gimli cast a covert, amused glance upward at his confused elven friend. Really, he felt a little pity for the relatively young elf; based on what Gimli had observed from the few, small hints available, Legolas was about to be in way, way, WAY over his somewhat innocent, too-tall head. Gimli wondered how Legolas would handle being the one having to tip his head upward to look at his companion – or, possibly, companions. Gimli was the son of Gloin, and their family line boasted a certain amount of presentiment as well as the call to lead their people. With that talent fueling his own observations, Gimli felt he could say with some certainty that Legolas was about to be the creamy filling in a Devil sandwich. He stifled a delighted chuckle, waved away Legolas' inquiring glance, and returned his attention to the Introductions.

"Presenting High Lord Demon and his mate and Consort, High Lord Glorfindel!" Harry and Glorfindel were utterly impassive, stoic and cold. Together, they gave the unrelenting impression that you were being weighed and measured to determine if you were in any way deserving of their attention. The sheer power that seemed to roll off these two in thick, heavy waves sent shivers down the backs of everyone present. This pair of warriors was as intimidating as any two people could get, clearly wielding every type of power available – political, magical, physical, sexual, financial, social, etc.… truly, it was a staggering list. The fact that each of the other newcomers and the two mates seemed to have a large measure of each of these types of power was just another frightening fact on a pile of frightening facts.

But, most terrifying of all the many terrifying facts the people had to process at this moment, was the undeniable realization that the eyes of each of these six, somewhat sinister saints being introduced, seemed to glow, as if backlit by the sheer force of the power they wielded separately and together. Most of the people in the Hall were strongly, overwhelmingly grateful for the fact that they were _not_ powerful and therefore did not have to personally interact with these strange, frightening individuals. They could leave the burden of that to their King.

oooooooooooooooooooo

King Théoden had been leading his people for several decades now. He had endured horrors that most would never face. His own son was only just interned yesterday, having been given a cruel death while his own father watched struggling and horrified from a tortured corner in his imprisoned mind. He had endured possession from one who was truly evil, and the touch of that soul upon his own still left him shuddering in revulsion. With Gandalf's intervention and power, he was freed from that dark imprisonment and was able to once again lead and protect his people and his remaining family. For the reason of that action alone, the act of freeing Theodin from Grima Wormtongue and his master Saruman, Theodin granted the White Wizard Gandalf with more tolerance and forbearance than his recent actions merited. The old Istari had grown far too arrogant, complacent in the knowledge that there were only five known Istari living on Arda and – since the fall of the traitor-istari Saruman – none of them were even half as powerful and revered as Gandalf. His arrogance and insufferable behavior had deeply offended the newly-arrived, powerful warrior-Istari family and their mates after the battle of Helm's Deep, and although Gandalf seemed genuinely regretful that his actions had cost them the good will of Demon and his family, it was painfully obvious to Theodin that Gandalf just really didn't seem to _get it_. He was clearly still convinced that he was more right than anyone else, more wise than anyone else, more _Istari_ than anyone else. It was maddening!

And so, while King Theodin was vastly impressed with the spectacular entrance of the newcomers and their mates, and while his well-trained mind and experience was processing all of the nuances and necessities of the present situation, it was simply the man in Theodin that could admit that what he most enjoyed about their display was the slightly fearful look in Gandalf's eye and the sudden realization on the faces of the arrogant Istari and his pet King that they were now facing several people who could piss a lot farther and longer than they could. With the deep satisfaction of that knowledge thrumming in his spirit, Theodin approached his guests with a look of genuine welcome on his tired but still-handsome face. He paused at a respectful proximity to the leader, Demon, and met the startling, gemlike gaze. Blinking away the somewhat hypnotic effect those eyes caused in all who met them, he offered to the deceptively young man a dignified bow of equals, one king to another, and began to speak.

"Welcome, our Saviors. I am King Theodin of Rohan. As such, I could offer you a kingly speech. I could extend to you the type of pomp and pageantry that the present Regent of Gondor would expect. I could….but I will not. I saw you on battlefield, and I recognize a kindred spirit. I hope it suffices to say that I have seen your display, I recognize that you are my equals, and I am very glad that you have chosen to join us this day." He met Demon's impassive gaze with his own, and allowed the genuine warmth and fellowship he felt for this man and his people show clearly in his eyes. He was pleased with the Istari's contemplative nod of acknowledgement. He suppressed a grin as he saw Demon's brief glance at Gandalf before the man returned his piercing gaze to his own. Quirking a small, hidden grin of understanding at Demon, he tried to convey without actually verbalizing it that he understood and approved of the newcomers' tactics in dealing with himself, the White Wizard, and the soon-to-be King of Gondor. It was a masterful display, and the King in Theodin could appreciate it while the man in him was resolved to sit back and enjoy the entertainment to come.

Turning to indicate the lavish meal taking place, he continued, "We have been waiting for – hoping for - your arrival, although we had not quite expected another display of your prowess. I, for one, am most impressed and pleased that you are all here. Please join us; in truth, this feast is in your honor and in celebration of our emergence from the recent battle relatively unscathed. Rest assured, we are entirely aware that this blessing is due to the Elves, who chose to honor ancient pledges of fealty and support between our peoples, and to the four of you. " As he spoke, he lead the way to his table and began waving over a few people to gather more chairs, but Harry stopped him.

"King Théoden, thank you for your invitation, but please do not trouble your people when we can as easily conjure our own," Harry interjected. As he flicked his wrist, six lavish chair appeared on the opposite side of the table, enabling the six to sit facing Théoden as an equal.

Théoden grinned in response and smirked at Gandalf, who was frowning. Gandalf immediately smoothed his expression back to his customary geniality and entered the conversation. "Theodin rightly honors the four of you, and our Elven friends as well, of course. However, it should not go unsaid that the Riders of Rohan had their own part to play, and it was at our entrance onto the battlefield that ended the battle." He raised his cup in a toast to Eomer, who shook his head in negation and looked slightly appalled at the old man's words.

For his part, Harry and his family felt that Eomer and his men deserved the toast and the accolade, and raised their own cups in generous and willing acknowledgement of their contribution. His ready toast to Eomer had the odd effect of making Gandalf seem petty. This fact was not lost on Gandalf, if his disgruntled expression was any indication. Continuing to be amused, Théoden redirected the conversation in a direction Gandalf _did not_ want it to go, "High Lord Demon, I wish to offer you my apologies along with my gratitude. I was severely disappointed and angered," he paused to glare at a carefully expressionless Gandalf and a mortified Aragorn, "that I could not immediately and personally express to you four my thankfulness for saving both my people and my Keep. The fact that you felt the need to relocate so quickly was entirely understandable, but I regret that the circumstances that caused it ever happened. So, there you have my apology, and now I offer you my gratitude." Raising his own cup high in toast, he waited as all of his people joined him before looking at Demon and his family and saying simply, "Thank you." He drank deeply of his own cup, to show his deep sincerity in offering the toast. His people followed suit, although it could be said that Gandalf actually sipped rather quickly and was first to set his goblet back down.

"Your gratitude is most welcome and appreciated, King Théoden. Rest assured, we would do so again, even expecting a similar reception afterward. It is not in us to stand by and watch the slaughter of innocents, nor of honorable warriors. " Harry replied with a tilt of his head. He met Théoden's gaze evenly, fully aware that he had just informed the man that he and his people would not stand by and watch the war rage, that they would be allies in this effort. Turning to meet Aragorn's somewhat startled eyes, Harry added meaningfully, "It is not honorable for any person, be they vassal or King, to not meet their responsibilities to the best of their abilities and to the furthest limits of their power."

Glorfindel remained outwardly impassive, although inwardly he was laughing loudly at the put-out expression on Gandalf's aged face. The old man did not appreciate being dismissed as if he were simply an unpleasant footnote to the prior day's battle. Although Glorfindel could and would acknowledge Gandalf's efforts and contributions, the ancient Elven warrior could clearly see that – unless the White Wizard began to truly see himself as an important part of a much-greater whole – Gandalf's ego and arrogance could well lead to disastrous consequences. He was fairly certain that there were already people who could point to the old Istari when assigning fault and blame; for instance, he had heard the tale from Legolas and Gimli of the long trek through the mines of Moria. Why had Gandalf not simply informed the Fellowship that the dwarves of Moria were all dead and that the mines were occupied by orcs, cave trolls, goblins and – oh yes! – a BALROG! Glorfindel was renowned amongst his people for defeating a balrog in one-on-one combat, and he rightfully deserved their respect for the task. For Gandalf to subject the eight he led, including four HOBBITS, to the overwhelming forces that occupied Moria, to lead them all unknowing into its depths while poor Gimli still believed he was to be welcomed into the warm arms of his family …. And then to subject him unprepared to the horrible reality of the slaughter of thousands of his people!... and THEN the insufferable old man wasted time reading a book, only to blame Merry for alerting the orcs to their presence … augh!

As he clenched his jaw in an effort to remain expressionless, furious once again at the sheer FOLLY and arrogance of Gandalf, Glorfindel felt a warm hand upon his thigh. Placing his own hand over Marcaunon's, he met his young mate's concerned gaze and mimicked the circumstances in which he had pictured his dress clothes for Marcaunon to pluck from his thoughts. He saw that his mate understood his message, and then Glorfindel pictured his thoughts about Moria and Gandalf's actions and placed them in the front of his mind, as his young mate had taught him. A moment of sharing a piercing stare, and Marcaunon's expression cleared. Glorfindel's breath caught in surprise as he clearly heard the young man's voice within his own mind, saying, "It is done and over with, beloved. We will have some fun at the old fool's expense, and we will move on. …Now, eat something, you look pale!" With that, Marcaunon's presence receded from Glorfindel's mind, and the two squeezed each other's hands before letting go and returning their attention to the meal. Glorfindel took a moment to enjoy his own pride in his mate; the young man was simply perfect. Casting an assessing look around, Glorfindel stifled a laugh; it would seem that Marcaunon's unwavering composure and noble stance was further wearing on Gandalf's resolve.

Haldir, too, was having a difficulty keeping his face serene and thoughtful as his mate had instructed. Watching the Istari chastened and humbled was such a deeply satisfying experience! In truth, Haldir also enjoyed Aragorn's response to the subtle reprimand Marcaunon had issued; the time for Aragorn to waffle and whine over his fate was long gone. The man's endless agonizing over Arwen and the throne of Gondor had become excruciatingly annoying nearly a decade ago. Entering the Hall to see a quiet but thoughtful and somewhat embarrassed Aragorn was a thoroughly rewarding experience. His reaction when Marcaunon spoke on honor and responsibility was bardworthy! Remaining impassive in the face of Aragorn and Gandalf's continuing run of delightful expressions of chagrin and discomfort was very, very difficult. It was even harder when Aragorn's hair began to fade from his normal dark brown to magenta and then lightened to a pale pink. Clenching his jaw tightly and digging his own nails into his thigh helped a little, but Haldir was at a loss as to how his luminous mate and her family kept their faces expressionless during the event. He wondered if they could teach the younger elves how to achieve such poise. Watching with some suspicion, he was also very interested in the reason why Eredhion was now approaching him.

Fred and George had spent most of the meal thus far busily exchanging potions and prank foods beneath the table in a familiar dance of signals and other cues. When the correct prank item was retrieved and ready for exchange, Fred tapped the inside of George's thigh twice before holding his palm out so George could take the item. Having already pranked Aragorn mildly (for them), they were now focused on the Dumble wannabe, who was seated on the other side of the table, directly across from Luna's admittedly yummy (although a bit too buff for his taste) mate. Perfect. With a devilish smile, George charmingly excused himself from the table and confidently walked over to Haldir.

"Hello, my brother-in-law! How is your feast?" George asked, leaning on the end of the table between Gandalf and an amused Haldir.

"Greetings, Devil. My food is fine; the kitchen servants of Rohan are very talented. Am I right to assume that the great distance between your seat and my own was too far, and you missed my company?" Haldir joked, wondering why George's hand twitched a bit before it moved towards the water pitcher. Gandalf seemed shocked, for some reason, at their exchange. As Eredhion suddenly smirked and moved just a little too close to be casual, Haldir suddenly realized that Gandalf thought they were flirting. Catching his beloved Ithilwen's mischievous wink, Haldir smothered a snort and leaned slightly into the Devil's looming presence. At this, Gandalf looked very uncomfortable and seemed to be forcing himself into silence. His expression was pained.

George rewarded Haldir with an approving pat on the back. "Ah, you poor sod, alas, I just wanted some more water as our pitcher is nearly empty," George explained, lifting the pitcher up as if it explained everything. Knowing the plans for the pranks, Haldir caught on immediately and lent his aid.

Quirking an eyebrow, Haldir replied with a touch of reproof, "Well, before you take ours, perhaps it would be mannerly to at least refill any cups that require it here, first?"

The grin that appeared on George's face frightened Haldir for a moment before it vanished as he said, "But of course, my friend, where _are_ my manners?"

Haldir watched in pretended confusion as George filled Gandalf's cup only before winking and making his way back down the table, doctored pitcher in hand. Watching the Devil covertly, Haldir smothered a laugh as the prankster overturned the entire pitcher onto the floor and sat down without missing a step.

Gandalf had heard the Devil and Haldir speaking in low tones, but had been distracted by their flirtatious body language and had paid their conversation little attention. As the Devil returned to his seat, Gandalf's attention refocused on Théoden, Eomer and Demon animatedly conversing as if they were old war buddies, while an indulgent Glorfindel looked on amused and occasionally added his own embellishment to a tale. So Gandalf had completely missed the odd fact that the Devil had filled his glass. Unsuspecting, Gandalf picked up the doctored glass and took a sip. How odd; the plain water tasted a bit fruity. Frowning, he peered into his goblet, trying to discern if any fruit had slipped into the water. Seeing nothing amiss, he took another drink.

Shortly thereafter, he felt his body tingling. Frowning, Gandalf wondered if perhaps the choice of meat was unsettling for his stomach, and was utterly befuddled when Théoden called out mockingly, "My, my, Gandalf! That's an unusual look for you. Setting new fashions now? I admit, I have seen courtiers wear flowers, but never fruit! Very daring!"

Still frowning, this time in perplexity, Gandalf replied carefully, "I am not in that habit." He wondered if perhaps Théoden's drink had been a bit too strong.

"You had better recheck, Istari, as it is most unbecoming for one of your stature to be so frivolous," Luna commented before resuming her conversation with Théoden's niece on the local herbs and plants. Gandalf stared at her for a moment before abruptly focusing on a pink-haired and oblivious Aragorn. What the devil…?

Gandalf remained unaware of his own plight until a snickering serving girl brought forth a clean platter and showed him his reflection. Upon his head, instead of his long, white hair, there were various fruits, in particular, he saw berries, apples, grapes, and a long, yellow fruit he could not identify. Squinting his eyes in anger, he gained his feet and pointed to the pair of Devils, not knowing which one had talked with Haldir.

"YOU! What did you do?" Gandalf questioned angrily, forgetting once again the lessons he had learned about Demon being an overprotective leader.

"That's a broad question, 'The White'. I have lived enough years that I could spend a considerable amount of time answering a question as open as that. Perhaps you could narrow it down a bit?" George replied innocently, causing quiet snorts from Legolas and Gimli, who had been speaking with each other and eavesdropping on the newcomers before Gandalf's outburst.

"You did something – _specific –_when you were over here flirting with Haldir!" Gandalf shot back harshly, desperately trying to change his hair back without having the vaguest idea how to do so. The magic of these newcomers was utterly foreign to his own. Hands moving through the fruit on his scalp, he wondered wildly if he should pluck it, as one would a tree? Slightly panicked, Gandalf almost missed it when the relaxed, amused atmosphere abruptly disappeared. The sudden silence finally registered as the outraged White Wizard looked up and focused on the occupants of the table. He swallowed heavily in sudden dread as he saw the various looks of anger and offense aimed at him.

Harry carefully, with great deliberation, placed his cutlery down upon his plate, patted his mouth with his napkin, and slowly pushed his chair back from the table. Finally, he turned and looked directly into Gandalf's watery blue eyes, his own green eyes glowing eerily.

"First, you demonstrate your utter self-importance and lack of good humor by accusing _my brother_ of something with no proof. Then, you accuse him and my _brother-in-law _of offensive and inappropriate behavior _with each other_, and to further increase the insult, you imply that they have done so in the presence of us all, including my brother-in-law's mate, who is, in case you have forgotten in the swelling of your own immense conceit, _MY SISTER_! Have you anything else you would like to say? Any more of my family you would like to accuse and offend?" Harry asked with cold rage. Most of the seated diners sat in frozen silence, hoping to keep the Demon's attention off themselves. It was perhaps an interesting note that, apart from an angry King and Demon's own family, which now included Haldir and Glorfindel, there were two others at the table who were largely unaffected by Demon's attack – one highly entertained dwarf, and one hopelessly confused elf whose heart had dropped into his stomach at the thought of one of the Devils flirting with Haldir.

The ensuing silence pressed down upon the quailing people as the two powerful Istaris stared at one another. Those who could feel such things were aware of the way the White Wizard called forth his power and tried to intimidate the younger Istari. In response, Demon's power seemed to push and weigh upon the older Istari, wrestling his lesser power into a submissive posture, until the old man finally looked away in defeat and muttered insincerely, "My apologies."

The coldness melted away and the relaxed atmosphere returned. Diners sighed with relief as conversation and some awed laughter started back up.

Gimli, not one to be fooled easily, waited for the surrounding conversation to disguise his question before he leaned closer to the redhaired devils and asked quietly, "Did you?" Legolas paid close attention, although he could not have explained why any of it mattered to him.

George and Fred looked at each other, having a silent conversation, before assessing the elf and the dwarf with piercing blue gazes. Apparently getting the answer they were looking for, the Devils relaxed and assumed expressions of arch amusement, while George casually gestured and cast a quick privacy charm. The eavesdropping diners were shocked at the faint shimmer that suddenly surrounded the four, and the fact that they heard no sound, even though they could clearly see that the twins were speaking.

Gimli raised his auburn eyebrows in quick appreciation of this newest demonstration of the power these people used so casually, and glanced quickly at a fascinated Legolas, who was watching the shimmering curtain with a look of childlike wonder. The dwarf knew that, as an elf, his young friend could detect far more of the colors and sounds of the natural world than any other race on Middle Earth. With that in mind, Gimli huffed a tolerant laugh and asked, "What do you see that I cannot, little archer?"

He laughed loudly at Legolas' half-hearted glare. It was fun to tease the elf, who usually gave as good as he got. Legolas teased Gimli about his height and his age. Gimli teased Legolas about his youth and his rigid, elvish rules . For both, the teasing was really an easier way to say difficult things, things like 'You are young yet, child. It's okay to make mistakes. Even if I get angry, I will still be here for you.' and 'I need your wisdom. I respect you, despite the harsh teachings of my Ada."

The Devils smiled somewhat fondly as they observed the easy interaction between the two companions. They liked the forthright dwarf, and could not help but be drawn to the quiet elf. They could clearly see that, although the declared relationship between elegant Legolas and gruff Gimli was a bickering friendship, in truth the bighearted dwarf seemed to act paternally with his younger comrade. Fred and George had been closely observing the slim elf from the moment they entered the Gathering Hall, both feeling a powerful pull within their souls. The dream imprinting had confused them, truthfully, because in describing their mate to each other, neither knew their beloved's name. Harry and Luna both knew the names of their mates, and many, many details about each, but the twins experience had been vastly different. They came away with few clear facts about their respective mates; instead, they had impressions - tempting, torturous impressions – of flaxen hair; long, graceful limbs; soft blue eyes; kissable skin; a gentle nature; deep unhappiness; and a prevailing, pervading loneliness that made each of the Istari half-crazed with the need to _find_ him, _protect_ him, _love _him, _soothe_ him. The fact that they did not know the identity of "him" was slowly driving them mad.

That they each had the same impressions of their respective mates did not surprise them; it seemed logical that soulbound twins would be mated to soulbound twins. Now, however, they were beginning to suspect that they were not truly meant for two mates. No, it was clearer every second that passed that this restrained, quiet, utterly _beautiful_ elf with the softest blue eyes either had ever seen was, in fact, their 'one'. This 'Legolas' was _their_ Legolas. Whether he knew it or not, whether he liked it or not, this graceful young elf was truly the Devil's Own.

Now to discover how he felt about them. Because, no matter what, they were keeping him.

The canny older dwarf was going to be of great help, this much they knew. They had the sense that the seemingly rough-around-the-edges axe-warrior was actually quite sophisticated, and he was definitely highly observant and intelligent. He was like they were, wearing layers of one personality over the reality of their deeper, truer selves. The layers were real, too, but the approachable veneer they showed the world was useful in causing people to underestimate them. The twins recognized in Gimli a kindred spirit, and he saw the same in them. Interesting that they shared a common goal, albeit with different reasons. Each of the three was already pledged to comfort, shelter, love and protect this refined, gentle-souled elf – Gimli from a paternal role, and Fred and George from the role of truemates. Catching and returning Gimli's steady gaze, questions were asked and answered. Nodding in accord, the twins knew that they had the dwarf's approval and assistance in winning and keeping Legolas.

George suddenly snorted in amused self-derision. At Fred's quizzical eyebrow, George leaned in and quietly muttered, "Perhaps we should have an actual conversation or two with him before we kidnap him, eh?" Fred's wry grin in response made his twin chuckle, while Gimli offered a knowing smirk. Legolas remained unaware of the subtle interaction, enraptured by the play of magic around him.

Returning to Gimli's original question, Fred took up the conversational gauntlet. "Why, yes, indeed, we used…"

"…some of our own inventions…," George continued.

"…that we created before we came here, where we were…," Fred chimed in.

"…known as Pranksters Extraordinaire!" George finished with a flourish.

Deep within his mind, Legolas found himself contemplating if the two roguishly sexy men did everything with such coordinated cooperation. Dismissing the thought quickly, lest he embarrass himself in front of the devilishly handsome Istaris, Legolas hesitantly questioned, "His defense of you and your sister was quite impressive. What would Demon's reaction have been if Gandalf had challenged you further? If he had outright named you a liar?"

George shrugged unconcernedly, then grinned, "HE would say something along the lines of…"

Harry suddenly stepped inside the privacy curtain and joined the conversation, "I would have said 'Do you have the right devil?' and doubtless would have added a euphemism from our home world about 'Better the devil you know!' – mostly just to throw fat on the fire." He rested a hand on each of his brother's shoulders.

"You are not denying that he lied?" Gimli asked shrewdly. He knew the answer, but he felt that Legolas would benefit from this conversation. Harry was about to say something important. Gimli trusted his instincts; they had never led him wrong.

"Of course he lied; he's a prankster! The prankster's first rule is 'plausible deniability', or maybe just 'Deny everything if caught.' In this case, he wasn't actually caught so much as vaguely accused. Even that would have been okay; it's not the first time someone has correctly pointed a finger at a Marauder! However, Gandalf was feeding Power into his voice; he was trying to compel my boys here to confess and submit. Not that he would _ever _succeed against any of us, but the abuse of Power was out of line. That was bad enough; however," Harry paused, looking directly into Legolas' eyes, "his second accusation, that of flirting with Haldir, was ugly and unconscionable. Joking about it is far different from the betrayal of actually flirting, which neither they nor Haldir would ever do. My Devils are deeply honorable when it comes to family and promises. Neither of them would ever abuse a trust, betray a vow or lie about the serious stuff. Of the Demon Team, my devils here are the most forthright about expressing their emotions. Far more open than I am, and far less confusing than Angel can be. So when they are serious, they are honest and pure; it is then time to listen to them with trust and an open heart. For the right person, my Devils will go through hell and back, never leaving your side, supporting you through your worse and cheering you through your best. Always."

Harry glanced between his Devils and saw the effect of his words misting their eyes. Placing a hand on each, flame-bright head, he cast a quick _muffliato _and whispered, "Luna advises this: You share one mind, one heart, one life, one bed. You share one soul, why would you not also share one soul_mate_? Your dreams and visions during the gods' imprinting were not wrong, nor are your instincts. Follow them, lest you shatter the gentle spirit. The tender, green leaf will freeze on the vine if not tended by twin flames." He felt his brothers freeze at their Seer-sister's words.

Sending a reassuring smile across the table at a slightly jealous Legolas, Harry pressed a quick kiss to each of the twin's temples and left them with the advice that they should try being sneakier.

Legolas was so hopelessly confused. From the moment the 'crack' that announced the wondrous arrival of the four newcomers echoed across the battlefield, he had felt – something. It was a new feeling, almost a tug or a pull – if tasked to be descriptive about it, he might say that it felt like a rope of pure emotion was wrapped around his heart and insistently pulling him toward something important. When the battle was done and he first saw Eredhion crossing the field to approach the Warrior Elves, he suddenly _knew _what the tugging was about. But then, he felt the rope –slide, a little, and he looked at the other end and saw Sidhenidon crossing the field and was sure that the tugging was actually for him. When the two devils stood together was the only time Legolas did not feel utterly conflicted. If they were separated from each other by any distance, he felt like one of those odd pieces of metal that always sought the ironstones, only he was the seeking metal and he was between two, equally attractive ironstones.

He wanted to fly to both of them. Was this even possible?

Confused and upset, he struggled to keep his face serene as he abruptly excused himself. He headed off in the direction of the privy, then changed his mind. Human sanitation solutions disgusted him. He couldn't stand the thought of being anywhere near the filth left by so many people, especially when most of them were now drunk. Resigned, he headed to the room he shared with Gimli to get the small shovel they used when camping in the clean, crisp woods. Better to take a long walk and care for his needs in the uninhabited copse of trees beyond the wall than to have to face the sanitation nightmare of a privy or a chamber pot within the Keep. He was far too off balance as it was; he feared he would completely break down if he had to add dealing with skin-crawling revulsion on top of everything was just one of the many very good reasons why his people generally avoided being around too many humans.

As he walked to his room, he reflected on his inappropriate attraction to the twins. He could not help but feel sad and somewhat hopeless. Neither of the Devils had shown the slightest bit of interest in him. In fact, they had talked more with Gimli than with Legolas. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that this was probably because Gimli had actually engaged in conversation with them, instead of sitting like a shy, quiet elfling who was overwhelmed by all the adults in the room. How mortifying. He really thought he had trained himself out of his own retiring habits, having been sternly reprimanded by his father the King of Mirkwood far too many times. As a Prince of the Woodland Realm, it was not befitting that he be less than polished, less than sociable, less than perfect. He was not allowed to be simply Legolas Greenleaf, a master archer who liked to spend his time alone in the trees, listening to the birds and the breezes and feeling the world around him. He was meant for more. The confusion he was currently experiencing was – and he could not help but wince at his choice of wording here – not attractive.

Turning his attention back to his new favorite hobby of Devil-watching, this time replaying some of his observations from the meal, he had to admit it was interesting to him that most of the people who had met the devilish redheads could not tell them apart. For Legolas, it was clear as day: this one was Eredhion, that was Sidhenidon, together they were Devils. This one was Devil, but that one was _Devil_. How was that not obvious to everyone else? Bemused, Legolas remembered how the Devils communicated with each other. They needed no words, each understood what a simple look or touch meant. It was rather beautiful to Legolas, how they were, how he saw them – yes, they were two separate people, but they also were not. They were two halves of a whole or, maybe, two thirds of a whole - if the tugging in his heart was correct. He could hope, anyway. Maybe even dream a little, deep in his soul where no one would hear him or would ever know his hopeless wish.

Fascinated by the subtleties of their communication with each other, he had fallen into a pattern of much closer – albeit subtle- observation. After the prank of fruit-hair that that they pulled on Gandalf – and, yes, Legolas had witnessed the entire thing – when Demon came over and spoke privately with them, Legolas had felt left-out and jealous.

Was it his imagination, though, or had Demon really aimed those comments about the honor and fidelity of the twins directly to him? Everything was just too confusing, and all he really knew at the moment was that he needed to empty his bladder but had a long, dark walk ahead of him before he could comfortably do so.

oooooooooooooooooo

When Legolas suddenly excused himself and left the table, Fred and George were momentarily frozen in surprise. They knew without thinking about it that their little mate was upset and distressed. They also knew what they were going to do about it. But they needed Gimli's help. As one, they turned to the dwarf and met his serious expression with their own.

Gimli minced no words. "Talk."

As always when they were deeply serious, they dropped their trickster façade and showed their true face to the stern dwarf. Fred leaned forward earnestly as he began, "He's our mate. We don't know enough about him, but we do know this. He is ours. He needs us, and we need him. When we leave tonight, we're taking him with us. You, too, we hope; you don't belong here and he loves you. We need some fast information, some assistance from you, and the location of his room."

Gimli looked at each man in turn, closely studying their expressions and body language and listening to his own instincts. Making a fast, certain decision, he spoke with gruff approval, "You'll be good for him. He really does need you. From what I know, he's fairly miserable in the life his father has forced upon him." At George's questioning eyebrow, he explained, "Father is King Thranduil of Mirkwood Forest. Legolas is his only child, and is Prince and heir. Instead of letting the boy freely grow, the King has controlled and criticized everything Legolas does, everything he likes, everything he is. That boy is no king! A king must be a dominating type of man; Legolas is definitely more passive, more submissive - sweeter. He hates having to assume control over other people, and to be a King one must control an entire kingdom! He cannot do it, and he must not be forced to try. The problem is, the boy is so damn earnest, he will try regardless unless someone stops him. He's a gentle sort, enjoys nature and music and such. He's been so tightly constrained that I can almost hear his soul crying to be let out! Now, if you're going to protect him and treat him right, the way he deserves to be treated, I'll back you up all the way. If you don't, I'll kill you where you sit, and you had best believe I can do it."

As he talked, Fred and George both darkened with rage for their mate. It was just like Harry, all over again. Another young man – in this case, young elf – forced by a controlling bastard into a role that hurt him. With a single, shared glance, the decision was made. Gimli saw the resolve in them both, and knew that there was nothing and no one, not even a Kingly father, who was going to be able to hurt Legolas again. Not with these two firebreathers covering his back …. 'and his front!' the dwarf mentally chortled.

Now for the kidnapping … er, rescue. Rising to their feet, the twins glanced at Harry and Luna. With a simple acknowledgment, they knew their siblings supported them. Luna, in her incomparable way, would adapt the evening's plans without needing any more than that. Nodding to King Theodin, the three redheads left the Hall. As they walked, Gimli explained that his fastidious companion had probably needed the facilities, but would most likely end up taking another long walk into the woods rather than face the filth that so disgusted him. Gimli expected the twins to be amused, and was pleasantly surprised when they simply nodded in understanding. They worked out a plan for Gimli to pack all of his and Legolas' belongings and get them to Harry and Luna, while the twins went about 'convincing' Legolas to cooperate. Or not – the mental image of a bound, nude, rebellious Legolas had its own appeal to the devilish young men.

As that thought made walking difficult, Fred quickly refocused and said to Gimli, "I just realized that I still don't know Legolas' full name." Both twins stopped in mid-stride when Gimli replied, "He is Prince of the Woodland Realm, Legolas Greenleaf."

Gimli looked back in confusion at the slightly shocked men. As they resumed walking, they quickly explained the message that Luna had sent to them. Yes, he understood completely. If not given warmth and love and protection very soon, _this_ 'tender green leaf' would definitely freeze on the vine. Finding the door to their room, the dwarf felt a great sense of relief and happiness; he could almost feel the world brightening and lightening. Glancing at the huge, muscular men standing with him, he gestured to the door across from them. "That room is empty. I'll gather everything and meet you with the others." He accepted the small bag George handed him and looked impressed and relieved when George explained what it meant for a bag to be bottomless and weightless. Delighted, he opened the door as the twins entered the empty room behind them.

Legolas almost ran over Gimli as he left the room with the small shovel. "Gimli! What are you doing here?" He frowned suspiciously as Gimli grinned widely and plucked the shovel from his hand. "I need that! Blast it, dwarf, give that back! I will not use the indoor arrangements; you know this."

Gimli tossed the shovel onto the bedroll and pushed a protesting Legolas out the door. "Trust me, Laddie, your needs will be met and you won't require a shovel. Now, go! I will meet you later." Turning in anger, Legolas blinked in shock as the heavy door was slammed in his face and barred from inside. Utterly perplexed, he waited a moment, glaring at the door, before angrily turning on his heel to leave.

Halting abruptly, he realized he was standing nearly nose to chest against a huge, powerfully-built, sinfully handsome, copper-and-onyx-haired devil. Gasping slightly, he stepped back, or tried to, only to realize that the second devil was pressed up behind him. Legolas mind went blank as the bond within his soul sang and embraced the three with soulful, sensual loops.

As Eredhion's warmth sank into his back, Legolas felt the man's strong hands rest on his shoulders as a slightly-whiskery, masculine cheek rubbed against his hair. The overwhelmed elf could only gasp as he felt a hard, calloused hand beneath his chin, gently tipping his head up. Obeying the unspoken command, Legolas raised stunned eyes and fell upwards into the intent, sapphire gaze of Sidhenidon. Happily sandwiching their luminous little mate between them, the devils watched in gentle amusement as the confused elf struggled for something to say.

Taking pity, Sidhenidon rubbed a calloused thumb on Legolas' silken jaw, and then pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Behind him, Eredhion soothingly massaged Legolas shoulders as he continued to rub his roughened cheek in the long, sweet-smelling hair, purring lowly like a great hunting cat. Putting his hands up to frame Legolas face, Sidhenidon looked into the bewildered, sky-blue eyes and spoke softly but firmly, "You, little elf, are our mate. I suspect you know this, yes?" He saw the conflict in Legolas' face and nodded. "Ah. So, you had an inkling but were not admitting it yet?... mmm-hmmm." He tipped his face closer and moved Legolas face with his hands until the elf had no choice but to gaze directly into the stern blue eyes. "Admit it now. We are leaving here in a couple hours, and you are going with us." He saw the alarm and denial in Legolas' eyes as the elf opened his mouth to speak, only to have the words abruptly swallowed by a swift, hard kiss. "No, little one. No. We are taking you with us, tonight. Gimli is going, too. Don't be afraid, Legolas. We will never hurt you. We will not force you into anything you don't truly want, unless it involves your wellbeing. We will never betray you, nor will we leave you. You are our mate, our soul-bonded love, and your happiness will always be our first priority. But do not misunderstand; you belong to us."

Poor Legolas was utterly overwhelmed. One minute he's just trying to take care of simple, basic needs, and the next minute – THIS! He was mortified to realize that, in his secret heart, he was actually delighted by and far-too-quickly content with the somewhat dominating behavior of his devils…. er, _the_ devils, that is…. but he was a Prince, and a Warrior, and he did _not_ simply obey like this. Working up his indignation, because he was sure this was the reaction his father would have demanded of him, he tried to wrench his face away from the warm, oh-so-wonderful hands cupping his cheeks as he spat, "Release me! How dare you? I am no one to be commanded, not by you, not by anyone. I am going nowhere this night – except to the thrice-damned privy." Struggling in the implacable grip, he was furious to realize that none – absolutely _none_ – of the defensive moves he knew seemed to have any effect at all on either of the redheads. "Damn you! I demand you release me this instant!"

George leaned down from behind him to whisper in his ear, "Can you feel what you're doing to us as you struggle so prettily? "

The struggling elf instantly froze, suddenly intensely aware of the position he was in, of the large, hard bodies pressing him between them, of the impossibly hard arousal Eredhion pressed against the seat of his leggings and its twin that nudged insistently against his hip by a gleaming-eyed Sidhenidon. Legolas could not prevent the blush that stained his cheeks as he dropped his eyes in confusion. He was mortified to realize that he felt a slow, deep curl of desire deep in his body, and that his own manhood was slowly making its presence known against Sidhenidon muscular thigh. He panted lightly, distressed and embarrassed, as the flame-haired devils lightly rubbed against him like the great cats they reminded him of. This was so far beyond his experience, he had no idea at all what to do.

Fortunately for him, his massive mates – and had he really just thought that? – had no interest in taking him in a public hallway. He distantly thought that this was a fortunate thing, and willfully ignored the whine of disappointment that fought to emerge from his overworked lungs.

Fred could not help but think that their little mate was adorable, all wide-eyes and flushed cheeks and an innocence he could almost taste. Based on the deep purring coming from behind Legolas, George was equally enamored of the beautiful man who was shivering between them. Dropping another hard kiss on that tempting, trembling mouth, he recaptured Legolas' unwilling gaze and firmly explained, "Now, first things first. George and I have done a little transfiguration in that room," nodding to the doorway across the hall, which Legolas surmised was where they had been hiding when he first left his own room, "and this fine Keep now boasts a proper, British bathroom. You can use the necessary and clean up a little if you want before we leave." Firmly refusing to speak, the purring, petting twin terrors nevertheless somehow knew what their rebellious little mate was thinking. George pressed a kiss to his neck and murmured in his ear, "Meleth 'nin, we promise we will care for your needs in whatever way best suits your desires. You are an elf; of course you're fastidious! Trust us enough to believe that we are not pushing you to enter a room that upsets you."

Ruthlessly suppressing his urge to acquiesce and to relax against the powerful bodies supporting him front and back, Legolas carefully tried to work up another burst of rebellion. He opened his mouth to issue an insult, but quickly stifled it at Sidhenidon's stern look. "We will relax a little in the outer room and when we get the signal from Demon, we'll leave and meet the others, including Gimli. Then we're taking you to our camp. Understand?"

Leaning over a slender shoulder to look down at Legolas' frowning face, George softly laughed. He felt their little elf shiver as his breath teased the graceful, leaf-shaped ear, and he brushed a kiss across the tip as he stepped back a bit and lightly ran his hand down Legolas' back before letting it rest just above the curve of a pert, perfectly-formed cheek. Legolas didn't even try to move away; he just glowered at the floor and tried very hard to be displeased. He was very conflicted about the fact that his mates seemed to find his most fearsome scowl adorable.

Blinking in shock at the trend of his thoughts, he shook his head in slight negation at the way he was already thinking of these insufferable duo as 'his mates.'

Fred stepped back slightly and dropped his hand to Legolas' arm, as George urged Legolas forward with a large, warm hand on the curve of his back. Together, they directed a flustered Legolas into the newly-remodeled room, and the archer could not help but be astonished at what greeted them. He was quite certain this room had been full of old broken furniture and other cast-offs just a few days ago! The outer room, as Fred named it, was warm and inviting, with a deep, soft carpet covering the stone floor, a cheerful fire in the hearth, and large pillows and cushions scattered about. As Fred stopped at a low table and started to uncover dishes of some sort of dessert, George escorted a stubbornly silent Legolas through the doorway on the far wall. Looking around, he could not keep his pleasure from showing on his face as he took in the pristine, tiled floor and walls, the large bathtub, the rain stall, a pedestal with a water basin upon it (and why was there a hole in the middle and a pipe at the top?), and a small closet off to the side. Although he wanted to explore, his most pressing concern did not seem to be readily addressed here. He wanted to remain obstinately silent, but his bladder vehemently disagreed. Finally, he glanced up unwillingly at the far-too-tall, breathtakingly handsome devil leaning calmly against the door, muscular arms crossed comfortably, who was quietly watching Legolas argue with himself.

It had been George's intention to make his stubborn little mate speak up and ask him where the toilet was, but his resolve crumbled fairly quickly under the pressure of Legolas' blushing face and pleading expression. Pretending not to see his embarrassment, George simply extended a long arm and pushed open the door to what Legolas had mistakenly thought was a closet. At the elf's befuddled expression, George carefully controlled his urge to laugh, and explained matter-of-factly, "Aim into the water. When you're done, push the lever down. When you come out, I'll explain the sink." He smothered another laugh at Legolas' horrified expression when he told him to 'aim for the water', and quickly left the room and shut the door. Once certain his mate couldn't hear him, he surrendered to the urge and laughed heartily.

Fred grinned back at him from his reclining position by the fire. No explanations were necessary; the moment was rare indeed when they didn't know each other's thoughts. Waiting a moment or two after he heard the telltale flush, George knocked once on the door and re-entered the tiled room, only to laugh again at a shocked Legolas, who was backing out of the stall with his eyes fixed on the refilling toilet. Legolas whirled at the laugh and flushed in a manner George found most delectable. Guiding Legolas to the sink with a hand once again resting on its new favorite place in the gentle curve of his mate's back, George met the elf's gaze in the mirror and smiled warmly. He ran a soothing hand down the slim, toned back and said quietly, "I know that this is strange for you, a'maelamin. Much of what we bring to this world will be new and different. Most of it will be good things. We bring nothing that the Valar have not approved, and most of what we bring and do will serve to make your life better, easier, cleaner, healthier. All we ask is that you are open to the experiences, try what we offer." The strong, gentle hand never ceased its soothing journey over his back.

Looking in the mirror, Legolas was struck by the image that looked back at him. He was not a short elf, if there even were such a creature, but with Eredhion standing slightly behind him, he looked petite and delicate. The sheer mass of the vibrant, overwhelmingly masculine redhead played brilliantly against Legolas' own coloring, and rather than making him look pale or faded, the brilliant coloration of the man seemed to enhance the elf's moonlit hair and soft blue eyes. Together they made a striking pair, although Legolas had the fleeting thought that the image seemed incomplete. He needed another devil in the frame, for balance.

Wrapping long arms around his slim mate's chest, George rested his chin on top of Legolas' silken hair and simply held him for a moment of quiet contentment. Heaving a sigh, he met shy blue eyes in the mirror as he pressed a light kiss onto his beautiful mate's temple. Quirking a straight, coppery eyebrow, he gently asked the momentarily docile elf, "Will you try?"

Legolas was again enraptured by the soft, deep voice of his mate, and hesitantly nodded in agreement as he dropped his eyes to the odd bowl in front of him. He could not help the small burst of warmth in his heart when George pressed a gentle, approving kiss on the top of his head. He kept his eyes down and watched carefully as George's strong hand reached down into the bowl and waved under the pipe. Astonished, Legolas watched as water began to pour from the pipe into the bowl, only to run into the hole and disappear. Raising his eyes in irritation when George chuckled again and said, "We'll explain the wonders of modern plumbing some other time, all right, little one?" Legolas brow wrinkled into a frown. Still stubbornly saying nothing, he was nevertheless thinking irritably, 'No, it is _not_ all right. I want to know about this!' George moaned softly as he watched the tempting, pouting lower lip. That just wasn't fair! Legolas seemed to read his thoughts, if the speed at which the pout disappeared was an indication. Smiling in mingled regret and musement, George added temptingly, "For now, let's just clean up and go join Sidhenidon for dessert, all right? He brought something special from our home world, just for you."

His fading irritation disappeared abruptly when George reached long arms around Legolas, soaped his own hands, then took hold of Legolas' hands in a gentle grip and slowly, sensually washed them. Legolas was captivated. It had never once occurred to him that washing someone else's hands could be an act of lovemaking, yet here was his devil gliding strong hands in light, soapy caresses over his own, tracing each finger, sliding over his palms, and rinsing the soap off their hands under the gentle, warm water. Rather than let his disconcerting mate see his too-revealing face, Legolas dropped his chin to his chest, closing his eyes in dismay as his desire rose again. Trying to calm his traitorous body and school his expression to something resembling composure, Legolas sighed in surrender as he was pulled more firmly against a muscular chest and wrapped in strong, comforting arms. Dropping his head backward to rest against George, the Elven Prince of the Woodland Realm let his warrior Istari soothe him, and he did not resist when he was easily lifted into strong arms and carried into the other room to be settled carefully, lovingly, in a reclining position on soft cushions between his two attentive, breathtakingly masculine mates.

It did not take long for Legolas to decide that being hand-fed perfect, chocolate-dipped strawberries by his two charming, bossy, handsome, annoying, sexy mates while they alternated long, drugging kisses and intoxicating, intimate caresses was now his all-time favorite dessert. Bar none.

ooooooooooooooooooo

After the twins and Gimli left to follow Legolas, the remaining diners were left to witness the moment that Aragorn discovered his newly-pink hair. Expecting the man to have a reaction similar to Gandalf's, everyone was pleasantly surprised when the fated 'King-of-Men' tossed his pink hair back and laughed merrily. The others – with the exception of Gandalf - joined in his amusement, and with that action, Aragorn was forgiven. As he sensed the improved opinion of his dinner companions, Aragorn found that he was surprised but deeply pleased and somewhat embarrassingly grateful. He was fully aware that the cooperation and good opinion of these people was not only crucial to the future of Gondor and the whole of Arda, but was also a prize in and of itself. These were friends to cultivate and to treasure.

As the evening drew to a close, the Rohirrim felt sincere regret that these fascinating people would be leaving again. Theodin and Demon had discussed at some length the unfolding events, and had agreed to meet again at Isengard with the intent of capturing and interrogating the disempowered Saruman. Gandalf had briefly discussed what Wormtongue had done to Theodin and had tried to don his 'mysterious and wise Istari' robes by being deliberately vague as to the details, only to be once again firmly put in his place when the Lady Angel recited chapter and verse the specific actions that an Istari had to take in order to dispossess a living being. Truthfully, Gandalf found himself fascinated by the discussion that sprang up between the Angel and the Demon regarding the differences between dispossessing a person of the presence of a living being versus the presence of a shade or other dark spirit, and clarifying for the listeners the precise difference between a dispossession and an exorcism. Once again, he found himself in a position of humility, and while he still did not like it, at least it was becoming more familiar to him.

Theodin took great comfort from Demon when the young nobleman told him of his own experience being possessed by an evil wizard, one whom he later executed. Knowing that the strong, intelligent man had dealt with such an event when he was only fifteen years old, and receiving sage, pragmatic advice from both Angel and Demon regarding his recovery, as well as a selection of liquid medicines which would ensure dreamless sleep for a few days, firmly put the King of Horses on the path to recovery.

As they rose to leave, the Lady Angel leaned over to Theodin and patted him on the back as she said, "Do not let yourself dread facing Saruman when next we meet. He employed the tricks and sleight-of-hand of a cheap entertainer in order to convince you that he is the biggest, baddest, evilest wizard around. In truth, he is simply a man with some access to magic, who thought so little of his own worth that he pledged himself and all that he held dear in the service of a bigger bully. Saruman is a coward. All bullies, at heart, are cowards. Even Sauron. And if you don't believe me, look to my dear Demon, who has personally battled evil wizards since he was just 18 months old – and he always won. On our world, he is known by many as the Savior. I know that you have employed that title here as well. The point is, for the most part, my brother has always been strongest when fighting for, and with, those whom he loves. And you, King Theodin, are very much like my brother."

Theodin had listened carefully as Angel spoke. After thanking her, he turned and looked meaningfully at Gandalf. His question to the old Istari was clear: do you understand? Do you finally get it?

Gazing back, Gandalf could not truthfully say that he did understand. Not yet. But, at least he could now acknowledge that he did not know quite what it was that he did not know. With an inward smirk, he decided that the whimsy of that statement must in itself be progress of a sort.

Catching a glimpse of copper as someone entered the room from the door that led to the sleeping chambers, Aragorn looked in surprise at a rapidly approaching, widely grinning, clearly excited Gimli. Smiling at his dwarven friend, he clapped a friendly hand upon his back and asked, "And what have you been up to, Master Axe bearer?"

Gimli laughed loudly as he caught Harry's eye and nodded broadly. Looking back at Aragorn, Gimli happily explained, "I am about to go off on another adventure, my friend. Legolas and I will be joining Demon and his families at their camp."

Aragorn's smile dropped slightly as he realized that the last of his Fellowship companions, with the possible exception of Gandalf, was leaving. Gimli had an understanding look on his face as he gravely spoke to the reluctant King. "Aragorn. This is not goodbye. Frankly, I do not doubt that you will be joining us, sooner or later, at our new location. For now, however, you are clearly needed here. You have a mentor in leadership in Theodin, and a role to play yet with regard to Gandalf. We will meet you all in three days, at Isengard, and perhaps then we will know more definitely what plans we will follow."

Regaining his smile, Aragorn nodded decisively as his pink hair swayed gently around his face. "You are right, once again, Gimli. I want to thank you for everything. You do your part, and I will do my mine." He hesitated a moment, then lowered his voice and quietly asked, "But Legolas? Gimli, I am not blind. He has seemed terribly distracted and distressed since the battle. Is he all right? Like you, he is my dear friend, possibly my oldest friend, and I would see him well and happy if I can."

Looking to the door from which he had entered, Gimli had a broad, genuinely happy smile on his face. Glancing up at Aragorn, he looked back at the door, "There is your answer, Estel. I think you can rest easy on that score."

Turning, Aragorn saw Legolas entering the Gathering Hall accompanied – closely accompanied – by the twin Lords Devil. Each of the imposing, redhaired men had a proprietary hand on his graceful, Elven friend's back. Pausing to absorb what he was seeing, Aragorn was struck by the fact that Legolas looked almost delicate, walking between the two towering, muscular Istari. His friend seemed to glow, and not just in the manner that all of the fair folk seemed to emit moonlight through their very skin. No, Legolas seemed – radiant? Yes, that was the word that fit best. Observing closely, Aragorn saw how the Devils oriented themselves to Legolas, how attentive they were to him, and how his friend tried and failed to maintain his ingrained aloofness. A smile quirking at his lips, the king-to-be realized that Legolas had finally found his heart – or, perhaps, they had found him. Feeling genuine happiness for his lonely friend, Aragorn watched as one of the twins pointed to Gimli, and Legolas and the other twin followed his gaze. Meeting Aragorn's eyes, Legolas suddenly lost a little more of his slipping composure and flushed, then flushed harder as the twins were immediately entranced and Aragorn's smile broadened into a grin.

Shaking his fair head ruefully, Legolas allowed the twins to escort him over to Gimli and Aragorn, the latter of whom promptly pulled Legolas out of the shelter of the massive twins and into a friendly hug. He murmured quietly, "I am deeply happy for you, old friend," before Legolas was forcefully removed by scowling, intimidating Devils. They were taken off guard when the much smaller, pink-haired man simply laughed heartily in their faces and then told them with deadly sincerity, "Mistreat him and I will gut you – repeatedly, over many, many years."

Legolas stared at him in horrified mortification as the twins immediately relaxed and told him in concert, "If we mistreat him, we would demand nothing less." Closing his eyes in momentary denial, the elf rubbed an exasperated hand over his face, then yelped slightly when Fred's hand travelled a bit lower than necessary. "THAT is not my back!" he glared up at the smirking redhead, then yelped again and whipped around to glare furiously at George. "Stop that!" he hissed. His narrow-eyed glare was rendered ineffective when George leaned down and kissed him on the tip of his nose.

Laughing uproariously, Gimli eagerly led them outside of the Hall and into the large, open courtyard where Theodin stood amidst a crowd of well-wishers, including Gandalf, Eomer and Aowyn. Aragorn joined the King, who watched as the small group already formed by Demon, Angel and their mates shifted position to include the Devils, plus the King's favorite dwarf and the likable young elven prince who had steadfastly protected his people and supported both Theodin and Aragorn during the past difficult days.

"Farewell, then, Théoden. We shall meet you all in three days hence at the traitor Istari's tower at Isengard," Demon declared, shifting into a stance that served as a signal to his siblings, as all four adopted a staggered-W formation equidistant to each other, each with either an elf or a dwarf in front of them.

"Agreed. I gather, my new friend, that you are taking those two with you. Truthfully, it looks like I couldn't keep them here even with an order from their own sovereign!" Theodin laughed, and added gravely, "Just … take care of them, please. They are more than my allies; I count them good friends." He waved once, fully expecting the four to vanish with a 'crack' as they had done before.

Although the King was wrong, he was in no way disappointed by that triviality.

Harry smirked and raised a clenched fist over his head. At the signal, he, his Devils and Angel each released their wings, stunning all who witnessed it as the huge, beautifully feathered, powerful wings exploded through the charmed fabric of their robes. They posed for a brief moment to let the incredulous King absorb the image they presented, then Harry cast his arm forward as if throwing a stone. As one, each of the new Istari cast a combined featherlight and sticking charm on their passenger, and pulled each backward into a close, back-to-chest embrace. Arms wrapped securely around the waist of either an elf or a dwarf, the Demon Team leaped upward before gaining momentum and shooting straight into the sky like arrows that had been launched from Elven longbows.

On the ground, King Theodin and Aragorn took one look at a flabbergasted Gandalf, and both dissolved into undignified snorts and guffaws of hilarity. Eomer and Aowyn tried very hard to keep straight faces, not wishing to offend the White Wizard who, despite his recent poor behavior, was still very much a revered and beloved member of their world. The two cousins were losing the battle, however, because the laughter of their Uncle and Aragorn was deeply infectious. Fortunately, Gandalf finally blinked, and turned to look reprovingly at the King of Rohan. A slow, familiar twinkle began in the old eyes as the revered Istari raised a hand to scratch his hair, only to find himself with a handful of fruit. Aowyn succumbed to uncontrollable giggles when Gandalf, after some consideration, plucked a grape from his head and studied it carefully. Casting a deceptively solemn look at a gasping Theodin, who had fallen to his knees as he grew weak from the hilarity, the old man studied the grape carefully before shrugging and popping it into his mouth. At that point, the self-disciplined Captain Eomer dissolved into his own laughing fit, watching in a sort of horrified delight as Gandalf slowly chewed and swallowed the grape before plucking another and offering it to the King. As the twinkle became a sparkle, a slow smile spread across the aged face, and a slow, deep laugh worked its way up the old man's throat and burst out in a deeply amused, happy explosion.

It seemed that the White Wizard, finally, got it.


	6. Chapter 5 History and Then Some

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies if it seemed to take a day or two longer to publish this update. This chapter is the longest yet, and covers a huge chunk of history. I could only work on it for so many hours before my butt went numb and I had to take a break! This has bounced back and forth between Pikachumomma and I a few times, so pardon any typos and such, as I don't think either one of us can actually see this anymore. I finally stopped compulsively proofing and decided that if you can live with the few remaining typos (of which there are ALWAYS some!), so can we. Happy reading!

- WyrdSmith

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**At the Encampment**

Taorin Umberdusk was currently the uncomfortable focus of attention of dozens of his Elven Warrior brethren, most of who were gathered in a half-circle around him, peering closely at his bared thigh while two of his "friends" held him down.

"Really? This is your idea of decent behavior?" he ranted at his amused captors. "If you all truly wanted to examine the Lady Ithilwen's healing, I would have shown you with greater decorum than this!" He didn't even bother to struggle; he was strong, yes, but one elf against the will and strength of nearly twenty of his own comrades might as well just spare himself the effort and submit – within reason, that is.

The dark-haired warrior on his left, who had a firm grip on Taorin's ear rather than wasting strength actually pinning his reclusive friend, leered at him and said flirtatiously, "Sa, sa, Taorin! We must work on your self-esteem! A group of handsome, fit warriors accost you, force you to the ground and strip you of your leggings to gaze upon your bared nether region, and your conclusion is that we wish to look at your _scars_? Tsk, tsk. In truth, we are simply getting a closer glimpse of your manly charms, since you are so stingy in showing them off." Taorin was too incensed to notice that he was not alone in finding Landion's teasing less than humorous; several of the warriors began to straighten and give each other uneasy looks as they started to see the situation from Taorin's perspective.

Taorin cast a scathing glance to his left, unable to turn his head without effectively twisting his own ear, and bit out, "If that is the case, Landion, at least you had enough sense to know it would take at least twenty warriors to even get you close enough to look! Now, if you are all quite finished ogling me…!" It wasn't that he was body-shy, particularly, but this situation was thoroughly disconcerting.

Daugion, the warrior on his right, looked uncomfortable and patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. "I apologize for us all, Taorin. We did not mean to be so dismissive of your dignity. We had been discussing Angel's remarkable healing skills. When you came back from the forest, our enthusiasm overwhelmed our upbringing and we didn't even think about our actions; we just wanted to see how extensive the healing was and whether there was a scar. We behaved like a group of orcs!" The gathered warriors were now all backing away, looking shamefaced and contrite, while Daugion extended a hand to help Taorin back to his feet and Landion reluctantly released the disgruntled elf's ear and extended a hand holding Taorin's rumpled leggings.

Somewhat soothed by the apology and the embarrassment evident on their faces as his companions returned to their senses, Taorin reached to take the leggings when he caught a glimpse of something fairly large approaching from the direction of the lowering sun. Raising a hand to shade his eyes, he peered into the sky, catching the attention of the other warriors, who turned in immediate alertness to assess the situation. Most had weapons already in hand without conscious thought, while Daugion issued a series of pitched whistles that brought all of the warriors out into the open, weapons bared, as they watched with puzzlement the rapidly-approaching figures in the late-afternoon sky. Even as he stared, Daugion found it in himself to admire the forethought of the Istari Marcaunon, who could make privacy curtains that shielded all unwelcome sound while still allowing the elves to hear and respond to alarms and warnings.

As the forms in the sky became clearer, the warriors found themselves struggling to get their minds to accept what their eyes were telling them. Again! As if they had rehearsed it, each of the stalwart warriors found themselves staring like wondrous elflings, arms dropping to their sides and weapons suddenly too heavy or slippery to grasp as they thudded to the ground. Some of the warriors were shaking their heads in denial even as smiles began to light the beautiful faces raised to the sky.

Taorin resisted the urge to gape like a gullible hobbit as he watched the four dark forms against the bright, blue sky resolve themselves into the utterly impossible sight of the four newcomer Istaris flying – _**flying!**_– toward the camp, each with a set of enormous, magnificent wings fully extended in the manner of a sylvan-hawk kiting upon the breezes. Held effortlessly in each of the Istari's arms was a person. What should have looked awkward, because in the cases of Demon and Angel their passengers were both larger, was actually a clear example of poetry in motion. The Istari and passenger were lined up against each other as swords nestle together on the weapons rack. As the image resolved, Taorin could clearly see that Demon carried Glorfindel, whose long, golden hair was blowing wildly in the breeze of their passing. The sight of Angel shepherding the much-larger Haldir should have been amusing, but was instead somehow a strikingly elegant image. The airborne group had a flame-haired Devil on either side, powerful wings fully extended. The Devil positioned next to Angel was carrying an unknown elf – the only passenger who was being carried in the manner of a bride - whose light skin and long, flaxen hair was an almost lyrical contrast to his darkened-fire companion. The Devil next to Demon was carrying – "No!" Taorin's mind stuttered for a moment as he focused closely on the unmistakable form….It could NOT be, and yet his eyes insisted it was. The Devil next to Demon was carrying a Dwarf. An axe-bearing, auburn-bearded dwarf who was even at this distance clearly laughing as he pointed a mocking finger downward at the gaping group of Elven Warriors, while the Devil who held him ran a hand caressingly across the dwarf's chest and grinned happily down at the gaping elves.

Taorin was certain he was not alone in his fervent prayers and cursings to the Valar as he distinctly recalled Haldir's laughing admonishment of the prior day to the pair of Devils. They should have known better than to tempt the impish twins so. But truly, who would have believed that the man would actually have gone out and mated a _dwarf_**?**

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**Flying Away from Helm's Deep**

Within the first few minutes of being skyborne, most of the passengers had relaxed enough – relatively speaking – to be able to appreciate this unique experience and tremendous view. Harry delighted in showing Glorfindel the joys of daring aerial maneuvers, and was oblivious to the fact that his beloved seemed considerably less enamored of the perilous swoops and pinwheels through the sky than he was. Haldir would have admired his commander's ability to remain calm in such a challenging situation, but he had other things on his mind – as well as on other, assorted body parts.

"Angel! Beloved, you know how much I enjoy your sense of play, but even I must draw the line at aerial sex! Woman, not only does it seem impossible – and frankly, uncomfortable – but just imagine if we passed above someone who happened to look upward! We could scar a child for life!" As he spoke, Haldir was gently but firmly redirecting his winged temptress's hands to more respectable locations. He had one of her hands safely pinned around his waist, but the other was wandering lower and rendering his efforts to capture it somewhat halfhearted. Truly, his Angel was in the right family, judging from the devilry in both her laughter and her hand, which he managed to grasp just as it cupped his straining manhood. Haldir reluctantly pulled her hand away from his interested cock and put it tightly with the other around his waist, joining his delightful mate in her lighthearted laughter at his newest predicament. Turning his head to the side to direct his words quietly back to his winged Angel, he muttered, "If the sun catches our shadow correctly, I'm fairly certain that at least part of me will look like a sundial!" He accepted her lips upon his willingly, happier than he had ever been in all of his thousands of years. Ithilwen was a more perfect mate for him than he would have if he had designed every aspect of her himself. As they ended the kiss, he placed warm hands around the feminine, deceptively slender arms encircling his waist. Together, they turned their attention back to enjoying the flight.

George felt as if he were in a dream. They were high enough in the sky that they had each cast warming charms upon themselves and their passengers. While Fred carried Gimli, having lost a short but fierce battle, George had the unparalleled blessing of carrying their delicately beautiful, delightfully shy new mate, Legolas. Although the elf was considerably older than all of the newcomers in actual years, his relative age compared to George and Fred made him seem a bit younger than they. Legolas was presently cuddled in his arms bridal style, as George had shifted him into that position within moments of leveling off. His little mate had tried to protest, pointing out that all of the others continued to carry their passengers in the original posture, but eventually fell silent with an irritated huff when George met each protest with a deep, devilish kiss. It wasn't that Legolas didn't enjoy the kissing (because he really, really did!); it was just the principle of the thing! He was neither an elfling nor an elleth and should be carried as much like a warrior as the others were! What would his father the king say, if he were to look up and see them all, and realize that only his son was being carried like a maiden? Just as Legolas began to tense and struggle again in response to his darkening thoughts, Eredhion lifted him higher against his chest and rumbled in his ear, "Let it go, Mellanin. As far as we – and you – are concerned, he is just another elf. His noble status does not cow us nor outrank us, his warrior status is nothing compared to our own, and his role as your father is one he sacrificed long ago in favor of force-growing an heir. He has no power over us and therefore none over you, Beloved. You belong to Sidhenidon and me, ours in every possible way, as we are yours, chosen and blessed by the Valar themselves. Let us see how well Thranduil the King does, should he try to thwart the will of the Valar – not to mention the will of the Demon Team."

Legolas became lost in sensation. He was wrapped in the deep, smooth voice rumbling reassuringly in his ear, the warmth and strength of the arms around him, and the comfort of the broad chest against which he was tightly pressed. He felt the gist of the words spoken by his mate unfolding and soothing a centuries-old ache. As he let his mate soothe him, the surreality of flying through the darkening blue sky surrounded by his mates and family began to lull Legolas into a state of pure contentment. As strange as it would seem to him later, he did not even resist as he drifted into what would prove to be one of the very-best naps he had ever had, secure in the arms of one of his winged mates, while his dearest friend and father-figure was safely carried in the arms of his other mate, as they flew through the late afternoon sky.

While George was utterly content with his passenger, Fred – although deeply disappointed at not having his mate in his arms – was having an uproarious discussion with Gimli, who had taken to the experience of flying with pure enthusiasm. Fred had thrown his very best quidditch beater moves at the unflappable dwarf, only to be egged on to maneuvers of greater speed and daring. They both had broad grins on their faces and were flushed with the adrenaline brought on by some of their efforts. As the encampment began to appear in the distance, the flyers could see the elves gathered outside of the tents. Although most of them seemed to be going about normal business, there was a large group of elves gathered in a rough circle around three in the middle – two of whom appeared to be holding down a struggling, half-naked warrior. The oncoming flyers exchanged mystified looks, uncertain as to whether they were happening upon an injury, an assault or an orgy. As if sensing the eyes upon them, the group began to disperse, as one of the two helped the formerly prone elf to his feet and the other held out clothing to him. The excellent vision of those in the sky allowed them to recognize Taorin. Logic suggested that the others had been examining Taorin's healed wound, and it certainly appeared that Taorin had not been consulted on the matter. Glorfindel and Haldir both made mental notes to investigate and reprimand those involved. As the airborne group approached, Taorin glanced to the sky and froze in the act of accepting his leggings from the other warrior. It didn't take long before the encampment was flooded with Elven Warriors, gathered like school children in the play yard, gaping at the sky with expressions of utter disbelief on their faces.

Fred and George both watched as Taorin's face suddenly expressed pure horror as he peered almost desperately at the person in Fred's arms. The twins started to laugh as they realized what Taorin was assuming. Fred leaned down in a pose that would definitely appear suggestive to the elves watching from below, and placed his lips near a startled Gimli's ear as he ran a hand across the dwarf's chest. "Gimli, my friend, how would you like to play a joke on some of the warriors from Lothlorien?" His voice was filled with laughter as he explained to the greatly amused dwarf about the conversation the prior day, in which Haldir had made the comment, "Unless you mate a dwarf! Then you're on your own!" The good-natured dwarf was quite willing to participate, if the manner in which he placed his hand over Fred's and caressed it was any indication. In truth, Gimli welcomed the opportunity to repay the 'kindness' shown him previously, as most of the elves below had been part of those who had met the Fellowship on their arrival at Lothlorien. Fred and Gimli both turned to look at George and Legolas, wanting to be certain that the two understood the plan and that Legolas had no opportunity to be hurt by a misunderstanding. George's wide grin greeted them, and all three chuckled as Legolas buried his face into George's neck and his shoulders shook in mischievous giggles – not that he would ever admit to such a thing. A quick glance at Harry and Luna showed the two had already explained to their mates, who showed their amusement with huge, anticipatory grins of their own.

The four winged Istari performed a graceful, almost-poetically beautiful landing, as they slowed and braked before dropping to the ground with their passengers as if they did such a thing every day. The moment feet touched ground, the spells were dropped and the pairs separated slightly. The four Istari posed for a moment, letting the stunned warriors get a good look at their fully-extended wings, before they responded to Harry's signal and called their wings back. Suddenly, where four winged Istari had been, now stood the familiar figures of Demon, Angel and the twin Devils, with Haldir and Glorfindel happily holding their mates. Most of the warriors recognized young Prince Legolas Greenleaf, standing pressed back to chest against one of the Devils, clinging to the arms wrapped around him and wearing an expression of indifference belied by the anxiety in his soft blue eyes. More than one of the warriors offered the young prince a reassuring smile as they turned their attention to the person pressed up against the other Devil. Truly, if anyone had cause for worry, it would be the dwarf, not Prince Legolas!

Taorin could not repress his shudder as he saw he had been correct: the Devil was holding a dwarf. And the redheaded dwarf and the redhaired Istari seemed quite comfortable with each other, too! He glanced around and realized that, despite his lack of rank, greetings were clearly going to be up to him. The other warriors appeared to be shocked stupid. Taking a deep breath, he greeted Legolas Greenleaf first, and accepted his polite reply, before turning to the snickering redheads. Taorin abruptly decided that he was NOT an officer and NOT a diplomat and issued his greeting as one warrior to another, "Well, Lord Devil, I believe with this we have learned never to assign limitations of any kind to you!" As the Devils burst into laughter, accompanied by their Dwarf and the young prince who laughed behind his own hand, Taorin continued wryly, "Welcome to our ever-stranger little family, Sir Dwarf. If nothing else, perhaps you can teach some of my less-skilled brethren how to wield a battle-axe without unintentionally severing body parts?"

The watching Elven Warriors blindly nodded in agreement before Landion blinked and indignantly shouted, "Hold up! Did you just insult us?" The question was promptly forgotten as the dwarf in question leaned comfortably back against the towering Devil behind him, making the watching warriors swallow convulsively as their stomachs lurched. The snickering Demon and Angel and their mates finally surrendered to gales of laughter as a possessive Legolas grabbed Eredhion's arm and dragged him over to Sidhenidon and Gimli, where the delighted twins watched their suddenly-assertive little mate pat Gimli on the head and say, "Very good. They are all nicely horrified; this joke is concluded. Go away now, Gimli." The prince then pushed his Dwarven friend to the side to start him on his way and latched his other hand on Sidhenidon's arm, pulling his willing mate close. Eredhion watched in bemusement as their little mate pulled Fred's head down for a quick, claiming kiss. He snapped awake again as the irritable elf then looked around for him, an unspoken command which he immediately obeyed as he leaned down for his own, claiming kiss. Satisfied, Legolas grabbed a hand from each twin and wrapped their arms around his waist, glaring at Gimli as he said, "Mine! Go find your own." The twins were utterly charmed by their melleth nin's possessive behavior, and secretly adored the way an incensed Legolas looked like an angry kitten.

There was a brief pause as the warriors released a collective sigh of relief, and then the air was filled with shouts of laughter, foreheads wiped with mock relief, and numerous calls of welcome and congratulations. Under cover of the noise, Harry and Glorfindel quietly explained to Taorin and some of the captains the highlights of the situation with Legolas and Gimli, and promised to explain more to everyone later on, once they had all gotten rid of their finery and cleaned up a bit. The elves began to go about their duties, some to cook a nourishing meal, others to complete their own tasks, and the now eight-member Demon Team retired to their rooms for a short respite.

Those watching began to feel welcoming to the Dwarven warrior, who after cheerfully beckoning Legolas into the Devil's private room along with one of the redhaired twins, briefly entered his own room as indicated by the other twin before promptly re-emerging. Exiting the tent, he looked around the encampment before clapping his hands together and turning to ask where his help would be most useful. It was no surprise to anyone that Gimli and Taorin ended up working together, field-treating the skins and furs from the day's hunting as the others butchered the deer and the coneys and began to prepare a huge meal. Gimli fit seamlessly into the patterns of the camp, much to the surprise of many of the more prejudiced warriors, and it was not long at all before he was not Gimli-the-dwarf, but simply Gimli. As Legolas had already known, Gimli was a very likable person.

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**The Power of a British Bathroom**

Legolas and Gimli both felt that, having seen the rooms created by the twins back at Helm's Deep, they would be able to witness any additional wonders with equanimity. They were still unprepared for the sight of dozens upon dozens of people, including themselves, walking into two tents that would not have fit a single cot comfortably. Trying to appear blasé, they allowed themselves to be escorted through the entrance of one of the ridiculous tents, only to find themselves suddenly in a truly impressive space. They could see hallways branching off of a large, inviting central room, in which they were presently standing. While Gimli studied the fanciful but effective stone and metal that made up a truly remarkable fireplace, Legolas eyes fell longingly on the soft, comfortable couches that lined the room. The slender elf barely heard the others ask Gimli for the bag of his and Legolas' belongings, and he didn't notice that Demon and Glorfindel disappeared behind a curtain down one hallway while Angel and Haldir did the same on the opposite hallway. Legolas felt as though the last several hours were a blur of wildly fluctuating emotions and impossible events, and he desperately wanted a few moments' peace on one of those wonderful couches in this quiet, comfortable room. He almost whimpered when Eredhion wrapped a warm arm around him and began to guide him down another hallway, but then spotted Sidhenidon just ahead of them, holding aside a beautiful, heavy curtain for them as he smiled gently at his brother and their cranky elf.

Legolas allowed himself to be guided into the room, only to stop and gaze around in appreciation. Despite all logic that had already been shattered the second they entered the tent itself, the size of this bedroom was still shocking. It was considerably larger than the room he and Gimli had shared at Helm's Deep, and was decorated in the colors of a forest glade. The walls and carpet were a dozen different shades of greens and browns and there were small bursts of yellow and red in the form of ornaments resting in nooks in the wall or on the rich, wooden dressers and tables. In the center of the room was a large, sinfully-comfortable bed with a velvety covering Legolas longed to touch. Along one wall were two doorways, and through one he saw with delight some of the clean, wonderful tile the twins had used in the Helm's Deep "British Bathroom". The other door had a sign in Sindarin and Common on the front that read, "Marauder's Laboratory. Danger. Do Not Enter." Legolas blinked in consternation at that as he wondered what could possibly be so dangerous they felt a sign of warning was necessary within their own sleeping quarters. Then again, recalling the doctored water pitcher, the dragon fireballs and smoke, and the very wicked grins his Devils often sported, he felt perhaps it was best to simply obey the sign and be done with it.

He turned in surprise as the curtain at the room's entrance was again swept aside and Sidhenidon entered the room. Sapphire blue eyes immediately smiled into his own as Sidhenidon explained, "I've settled Gimli a couple of doorways down from us and I have all your things right here, beloved." The muscular man easily hefted the trunk of gifts and weapons given to the elf by a grateful Theodin and several of his people, settling the trunk against a wall as he placed Legolas' travel pack on top of it. Feeling a warm set of hands on his shoulders, he turned to look at Eredhion and blinked slowly into the crystalline gaze as he was carefully examined. He willingly leaned back onto the warm chest that came up behind him and the arms that encircled his waist, and allowed his head to be tipped up so that the tall, powerful devil could drop a devouring kiss of pure need onto his eager lips. At the first touch of his mate's firm mouth on his, Legolas sighed in delight. Truly, his mates were incredible kissers! Sidhenidon's wicked, talented tongue explored every part of the young elf's mouth, easily defeating any attempt at thought his little mate may have had. Eredhion pressed closely against Legolas chest, dropping his head to run caressing, heated kisses along his mate's throat as he slowly opened the fastenings of the elf's cloak and elaborate tunic to run calloused, experienced hands lightly over the exposed, silken skin. Sidhenidon briefly allowed Legolas air as he ran a questing tongue along one delicately-shaped ear, swallowing Legolas' small whimper as he dove back in for another long, drugging kiss.

Lost in pure sensation as his two passionate mates sensually devoured him, Legolas tried to resist the nagging thought that the other members of the camp would be waiting for them in less than an hour. Although he had overcome his own shyness …. well, mostly…. during the stolen moments at Helm's Deep, he did not want his first time making love with Sidhenidon and Eredhion to be rushed. At the risk of sounding like an elleth, even in the privacy of his own thoughts, he did not want them to merely couple; he wanted them to make love. And for that, they needed uninterrupted time and privacy.

As if the twins heard his thoughts – which, considering the bond, they may have – they each slowly and reluctantly pulled warm mouths from Legolas' sensitized skin, though they remained pressed tightly against each other, breathing heavily, Sidhenidon standing warm and strong against his back, Eredhion half-kneeling in front of Legolas and resting his head against their elf's stomach as long fingers carded through the locks of flame and onyx. They stayed still for several moments, gradually calming and quietly petting each other. Legolas saw Eredhion cast a speculative look at him before he rose to his feet with a look of determination on his handsome face. He offered a gentle smile down to his little mate, before catching Sidhenidon's hair in a strong grip and tugging his twin forward. Legolas watched in shocked arousal as his mates shared a deep, passionate kiss, before turning wickedly to him and sharing his mouth between them like fine wine. Utterly lost to the sensuality of this moment, Legolas completely forgot about his prior reservations, but the twins did not. They had no wish to rush their union, either. Finally, Sidhenidon drew back and purred against Legolas' ear, "Little One, we have millennia to do this right. We will wait for the perfect time to fully consummate our bond and savor the joy of making love to you. But," he growled warmly, "rest assured, delicious elf, this night - after talks have been talked and food has been eaten and stories have been told – we three will come back to this room and ensure that a good night's sleep is inevitable." Legolas felt Eredhion's approving growl and heated stare deep within his own, weeping manhood, and could not contain a whimper of agreement, especially when Eredhion rested a wicked hand on Legolas painfully hard cock and murmured huskily to his twin, "I have a desperate yearning to watch our little one's face as he flies apart beneath our hands and lips and teeth and tongues." Sidhenidon convulsively pressed his unrelenting erection against Legolas' perfect, pert butt and growled approvingly as his little elf pressed back against him and whined entreatingly. At the sound, Eredhion barely kept himself from thrusting against the delightful pressure as he felt Legolas hard, twitching cock rubbing against his hand.

They clung together in an agony of arousal, slowly calming themselves and each other enough that they could separate and prepare for the conviviality of the upcoming evening meal. To the devils' happy amusement, it was Legolas who lightened the mood when he snickered into Eredhion's hair and said, "I wonder who's winning – the two hundred elven warriors, or Gimli?" He laughed out loud as the twins exchanged a glance and said, "Gimli!" He was beginning to love their wit as much as their skilled hands and mouths. 'Really,' Legolas thought to himself, 'I must offer prayers at the Sacred Tree in thanks to the Valar for these men – my mates." Glancing up, he saw the two in question watching him in mild puzzlement, apparently unable to interpret his expression. Mischievously deciding to torture them, Legolas discarded his opened formal tunic to the floor and turned to walk to the room of gleaming porcelain, teasingly shimmying out of his leggings on the way. Just before he passed through the open doorway, the leggings dropped to his ankles and he gracefully kicked them back and sent them flying to the stunned devils. Smiling in delight at his own daring, he risked a glanced over his shoulder to judge the effect of his impromptu performance and forcefully suppressed an excited giggle as he saw the results.

Fred and George stayed frozen, watching their sweet, shy little elf turn into an erotic wet dream as he walked bare-chested toward the bathroom. Twin sets of sapphire eyes tracked every inch of skin exposed as the leggings worked their way down the pert globes and creamy, toned thighs. As if in a trance, George reached out and caught the garment as their tempting, teasing mate send them flying at his chest. Both of the alpha males groaned in delicious torture as they saw one soft, gleaming blue eye peak over a bared shoulder at them, long blond hair rippling over a long, toned back, and together they watched transfixed as their delicious little elf's perfect, bared butt swayed from the room. Blinking in shock as the door was closed behind the little tease, they exchanged wry grins, glittering promises of erotic retribution in their eyes, as they listened with amusement to Legolas' delighted, smug laughter echo off the porcelain tiles.

As his devils went about shedding their formal clothing and redressing in their distinctive, casual clothing, Legolas visited their very own "British Bathroom." Feeling the cool smoothness of the tile beneath his feet, the contented elf spent the next thirty minutes happily experiencing every aspect of his absolute, favorite place to be. As he dried himself with one of the fluffy, absorbent towels stacked on the shelves after a blissful ten minutes in the rain stall, Legolas reflected that he was lucky his handsome mates had found him before someone else discovered his weakness for a pristine personal facility such as this. Before he met his Sidhenidon and Eredhion, he may well have sold his virtue to whatever Elven noble could provide him with the best 'bathroom'! Snickering quietly to himself, he dressed in the wonderfully soft clothing an attentive Eredhion had laid out for him while he was in the rain stall, and reluctantly left his own little version of the havens. As he joined his gently smirking devils and they left to join the others for food and conversation, Legolas decided that every time his father's face and words surfaced to wound him, he was going to call up three distinct images to defeat him: a sensually stalking Sidhenidon backing Legolas against his twin, Eredhion as he had appeared in the mirror while holding Legolas, and his very own, pristine, "British Bathroom."

Compared to that, King Thranduil was just another self-important elf.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**Troubled Past**

The curtain had barely fallen closed over their doorway before Glorfindel had a startled Harry in his arms. Glorfindel had followed the responsible path throughout the day, allowing his little mate the space and support he needed to move through the day according to the plans laid out the day before. But that time was at an end now. He had Marcaunon safely in their room, with nothing to do for the next hour save relax and clean up for the evening meal. Glorfindel was done waiting.

Backing his bewildered mate step by step, Glorfindel smiled down into perplexed green eyes as he suddenly turned and lowered himself into the large, comfortable chair in the corner of the room, swiftly pulling Harry down onto his lap and wrapping him in warm, muscled arms. He dropped a kiss onto the young man's distinctively-scarred forehead, his nose, and his plump, pink lips before tucking the raven-haired beauty's head beneath his chin and allowing the quiet warmth and privacy of their rooms to sink into tense muscles and stressful thoughts. Exercising several millennia's worth of experience, the warrior elf patiently waited for Harry's breathing to slow and his spine to unbend.

As they sat cuddled together on the overstuffed reading chair, Glorfindel unbound and carded long fingers through Harry's raven tresses. He let the repetitive petting relax them both as he reflected on the nightmares and dark memories that had troubled his young mate's night. He had spent most of the night quietly comforting and soothing his distressed mate, refusing to allow the young man to retreat into what was clearly a familiar posture of self-comfort. The first time he had awakened and seen Marcaunon curled in upon himself, huddled miserably on the edge of the bed and clinging to the pillow in which he had buried his tear-filled eyes and stifled his gasping sobs, Glorfindel had felt his own soul react in an almost violent need to protect and reassure his other half. As the tortured green eyes met his and he read the dread in them, Glorfindel understood that his mate needed to keep himself tightly together for the next day, that he desperately did not want for Glorfindel to force him to open his heart and his memories to scrutiny – at least not while they had the trip to Helm's Deep to navigate. He felt Harry's relief shudder through the smaller male when he simply pulled the pillow from the convulsive grasp, forced Harry to unclench and unbend his body, and then pulled him to rest lengthwise on the bed, nose buried in Glorfindel's chest as the large elf wrapped himself around his distressed mate. That was how Harry spent the night, drifting into fitful patches of sleep, chased by nightmares that were in truth memories, to struggle into consciousness with warm arms around him, loving kisses placed on his face and his hair, strong hands gently rubbing his back and a deep, musical voice murmuring love and comfort into his ear. It had been a long, arduous night, followed by an adventurous, high-tension day. But now, they were home – and Glorfindel wanted answers.

As they settled onto the treasured old chair that Harry had rescued from Remus and Sirius' little cottage the day he sent them away, Harry curled up on Glorfindel's lap and allowed the peace of the room and the warmth of his muscular mate to seep into his body and his soul. He knew what Glorfindel wanted, and in truth he believed that the warrior deserved his answers. However, as Harry contemplated dredging up more of his past, he felt his tears rise with his tension and shook his head in angry frustration. He _could not_ do this – but he knew who could. Really, their story needed to be told to more than just Glorfindel; Haldir, Gimli, Legolas and Glorfindel all needed to know the dark history that belonged to the Demon Team. If they all heard the saga at the same time and in the same way, there would be no confusion, and Harry could then leave it to the Ardan members of their family to determine what to tell their friends and allies.

Decision made, he carefully untucked his head from beneath Glorfindel's chin and tentatively met the concerned hazel gaze. Glorfindel felt his heart clench at the uncertainty in the viridian eyes gazing into his own, and he placed a gentle kiss on the upturned lips in mute reassurance. He returned Marcaunon's small smile and continued to card his hand through the long, dark hair as he waited for the man to speak.

Taking a deep, unsteady sigh, Harry spoke quietly to his attentive elf. "I guess last night happened because of all the turbulence of the past week or so. Preparing for Arda, and arriving in the battle, meeting you, dealing with Gandalf, setting up camp, telling you so much more than I wanted to last night, planning today's visit … it just got to be too much, I guess. I've always had nightmares, so it makes sense that's how my subconscious would deal with the stress of it all. I…I know that you need to know more, you all do, but I just can't..!" His voice broke on the last word, and he frowned against the rising tide of emotion that threatened to choke him. Warm arms around him and a firm hand pressing his head back against the rock-had chest grounded him once again, and he swallowed hard before doggedly continuing. "So, I think that Luna, Fred and George should meet with you, Haldir, Legolas and Gimli and tell you the whole, sordid story. I just – I can't be there for it, Glory. I want to be there for you, but I just can't stand going through it all right now. Can you – is that all right?"

Once again, the deep, gentle baritone of his mate rumbled at his ear. "Marcaunon, of course that's all right. Yes, I want to know what has happened to you, and last night convinces me that waiting to learn the source of your nightmares is a poor idea. But I also do not wish to cause you sorrow or pain. Having your siblings tell me – tell us, rather – is a good solution. I am proud of you, melleth nin."

Hearing the conviction in that distinctive voice, Harry peeked hesitantly up at Glorfindel to judge his temperament, and was relieved to be met with a steady, loving look. Reaching up, he traced a curious finger carefully down the aquiline nose and the sensuous lower lip above him, and smiled in surprise as his finger was gently caught between strong, white teeth before being sensuously suckled. The gentle, wet pull against his finger transmitted directly to his cock, and he shifted restlessly on the muscular lap as Glorfindel's strong hand ran a soothing line up Harry's thigh to gently grip his hip. He felt Glorfindel's hard length pressing against his bottom, and daringly rubbed his ass against the insistent pressure. He watched in fascination as the elf's hazel eyes darkened to forest green as the large hand clenched on his hip, then his breath caught as the large hands moved him, rearranging his limbs and stealing sensual caresses til Harry found himself perched astride the aroused warrior, knees resting on either side of Glorfindel's thighs as Harry straddled the larger male. Their gazes locked for a moment before Glorfindel swooped and captured Harry's mouth in a sudden, intense onslaught of desire. Moaning softly, Harry welcomed Glory's tongue as it slid into his gasping mouth, easily winning in a brief battle for dominance as the large hands gripped Harry's hips and began to move him through an age-old rhythm. Pleasure spiked through him as Harry obeyed the directions of those incredible hands, pressing his groin down against the massive, rock-hard erection that was barely separated from his own by the thin layers of cloth between them. Grinding himself against Glorfindel's cock, Harry threw his back and moaned in pleasure as Glorfindel began to thrust upward between his delectable mate's thighs, which were now tightly clenching in his own blind arousal. Glorfindel ran a questing tongue down his mate's elegant throat, lapping up the glow of perspiration that danced in the light with each panting breath Harry drew. Feeling the unmistakable signs of approaching orgasm as his balls began to tighten and tension wound tightly low in his abdomen, Glorfindel abruptly gripped Harry's hips more tightly and began a bruising, erratic burst of thrusting and pressure that sent the two soul-mates hurtling together into orgasm. The golden elf watched in awe as his exquisite mate threw his head back, raven hair swinging wildly with the frantic rhythm of their hips, and the brilliant green eyes began to glow as Harry hovered on the knife edge of passion. With a final, decisive, thrust upward, the soulmates erupted into long, erratic pulses of ecstasy, grinding against each other in a rictus of pleasure as they rode out the waves and tremors of their powerful, mutual orgasm.

The exhausted pair rested against each other, heaving chests gulping in desperately needed oxygen, breath hitching occasionally at a random, leftover pulse of pleasure, giving and accepting comfort as their thudding heartbeats slowed and regained a normal rhythm. Glorfindel huffed an exhausted chuckle at his little mate's awed, "Merlin, I can't even imagine what that's going to be like when we're naked!" Reluctantly, the big warrior lifted Harry against him and awkwardly rose to his feet, his little mate still wrapped around him, and headed for the half-bath.

"This won't be as good as our spring, I'm afraid, but it will have to do." He looked down in mild amusement as the raven head tipped backward and a considering frown crossed Harry's face. Privately, Glorfindel thought the look made Harry just that much more adorable. He quirked an eyebrow as Harry shrugged dismissively and said, "I've just decided that we at least deserve a good-sized shower in there. Let me down a moment?"

He looked back up at Glorfindel in inquiry when the hands remained firmly in place, keeping Harry locked in the warm, strong arms. The handsome blond grinned down at him. "I think ….not. I am certain your feet do not need to be on the floor in order to wave your hands. I like you right where you are."

Although he tried very hard to look disapproving, Harry was certain he failed when Glory snickered and kissed him on the nose. Sighing exaggeratedly in resignation, the wizard directed Glorfindel to move them into the doorway, then placed his hand on the door jamb and carefully sent his magic questing through the walls. Before Glorfindel's fascinated gaze, the small room seemed to melt and stretch, doubling in size, before a metal-covered hole appeared in the floor and an elegantly shaped pipe grew from the wall above it. Studying it carefully, he started a bit when Harry lightly smacked him on the shoulder and grandly gestured, "Onward, Steed!" Cautiously approaching the new space, he gripped his little mate tightly in surprise when water suddenly poured from the elegant pipe and began to run down the hole in the floor before it had a chance to pool. Bewildered, Glorfindel noted that the splashes and excess appeared to stop at an invisible barrier roughly four paces from the wall in each direction. At Harry's challenging grin and the wave of his beloved's hand their clothes vanished, he boldly carried his mate into the falling water and sighed in bliss at the perfect temperature. He carefully set his little mate down and they stood together beneath the pounding water, letting it sluice away the remaining tensions of the day along with the sweat they had so recently acquired.

Harry stretched out a lazy hand and summoned shampoo, soap and a soft cloth, and spent the next fifteen minutes happily sharing their second bathing experience with his glorious, hard-bodied mate.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**It's a Long Story**

Harry and Glorfindel entered the welcoming central gathering room side by side. A quick glance showed that the others of their little family had already gathered. It appeared Gimli had just returned from a quick shower in his room, as the long, red hair and beard were wet and newly braided. He was quietly talking with Luna and Haldir about the size of the buck he had helped prepare for this evening's meal.

The Devil Sandwich, as Gimli teasingly dubbed them, were also present. Despite his protests, Fred and George had Legolas seated comfortably between them on one of the long, curved couches. In response to his fiercely whispered assertions that the others would respect him more if he showed some independence, they threatened to have him sit on George's lap while Fred rubbed his feet. The twins exchanged a grin at their little elf's momentarily lost look as he contemplated that possibility before he grudgingly gave in and remained seated between them.

Haldir was seated on the couch nearest the fireplace, a once-again sated Luna curled up with his arm around her shoulders and with her feet tucked to the side. The pair was conversing with Gimli, who was perched on the hearth letting the fire warm his back.

Harry smiled in quick acknowledgment as everyone greeted their entrance with smiles and waves of their own. He pressed Glorfindel's hand as they stopped in the middle of the floor, and cleared his throat somewhat nervously.

"First, Legolas and Gimli, welcome to our family. That means shared stories, happy meals and times, wrathful vengeance to those that harm you. We are each of us truly happy you are here," he began quietly. His eyes softened in response to Legolas shy smile, and turned his head to look at Gimli as the dwarf spoke up.

"Laddie, I appreciate your welcome, but I think it a bit more accurate to greet Legolas as family and me as a guest, yes?" Gimli was very matter-of-fact as he spoke; he was no one's mate and was therefore, in his mind, not family. He was surprised at the universal headshakes. Looking around in mild perplexity, he was surprised at the certainty of the various comments of "Absolutely untrue!", "Nope, you are definitely family!" and "Gimli, where is your head?"

Luna took pity on him. "Gimli, you mistakenly believe that family, for us, means mates or those related by blood. You perhaps have forgotten that we four were not originally family, either." The dwarf flushed a bit; it was true, he had forgotten that fact. "Understand, Gimli, you are Legolas family of the heart. He chose you and you chose him. Although the elf who sired him still lives, you are the one who is his father, and you have long seen Legolas as your son. Petty details like race and blood matter little when love and magick can overcome them. You and Legolas are family; therefore, you are part of our family. That's really all there is to it!" Content with her explanation, the blond witch returned to her fascinated inspection of Haldir's hand, carefully matching up their fingers and cataloguing the differences.

Gimli looked around at the resolute faces and simply nodded in agreement. If his chin was not held as firmly as usual and his eyes were especially bright, no one commented.

Clapping his hands, Harry looked around the room at his growing family. He took a moment to soak up some of Glorfindel's endless strength, then spoke up somewhat tremulously, "Um…. So, we – the so-called 'newcomers' – we understand that you four have questions and need a lot of information about us and our pasts. And we want you to have that. The thing is, well, I went into some of that a couple of nights ago with Glorfindel and I'm afraid I'm not – dealing with it – especially well at the moment." He avoided the twins sharpening gazes and looked instead to the sister of his heart, "Luna, girl, can you three handle this in my stead? I want Glorfindel to stay and hear it all…. Hush, Glory, you know you need to and I'll be fine! …. So, Luna, can you? I'll just go out and tell the others about our day at Helm's Deep, while you … yeah." He looked desperately at Luna, hoping with all his heart that there was no mystical reason his Seer-sister would name that forced him to remain for the upcoming revelations.

Standing gracefully, Luna slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him into a gentle hug as she reassured her wounded brother. "Go, Harry. I think this is a good solution. You can relax and bond with the warriors, and we can make sure that all of our family knows what needs to be known. Don't worry."

As Harry pulled out of her arms, his worried eyes sought the twin sapphire gazes of his brothers. They met his gaze steadily and with easy acceptance apparent on their faces. It was enough. Heaving a sigh of mixed relief and resignation, Harry turned to leave the tent. He squeezed Glorfindel's hand as he passed and nodded an acknowledgement as his mate reminded him they would be gathering for evening meal in an hour or so. The pressure of his past was bearing down on him, and he needed the open air right now. Throwing aside the curtain, he took several, hurried steps into the camp and stood there, carefully breathing and letting his magic and emotions settle.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Glorfindel watched his mate flee, and then turned to face the troubled countenances of the Devils and Angel. He ignored Haldir's gesture toward a seat; he needed to stand right now, possibly to pace. Sweeping a piercing gaze between the three people who had the answers he needed, he growled, "I know some of it. Not enough. Who in Valar hurt my mate so badly that he flees from the mere mention of his past?"

The aura of sorrow and anguish was almost palpable as Fred, George and Luna prepared to face a past that still wounded them, as well.

Leaning against Haldir for comfort, Luna began, "This is a long, grievesome tale that none of us would visit willingly more than this once. Listen well. …. As seems to always be the case, this story begins and ends with Marcaunon, who when we first met him was an overburdened boy named Harry Potter."

oooooooooooooooooooo

**Bonding with the Warriors**

Finally calmed, Harry stood in the center of camp and began to survey the activity around him. He saw the food preparation area off to the side, with several fires over which slowly rotated hunks of skewered venison and some of the largest rabbits he had ever seen. The elves preparing the meal worked in easy routine as they lightly chatted about the recent days.

Everywhere he looked, elves were engaged in one activity or another, some working together, some separately, but all working in easy harmony with each other. The difference between this encampment and some of the experiences of his prior years was startling.

Letting his gaze roam, Harry smiled slightly at the sight of a younger warrior frowning fiercely as he attempted to repair a beautifully-made quiver. The arrows it would have held were bound in a neat pile at the elf's feet, and it looked like the quiver was irreparably damaged – at least by mundane standards, anyway. Letting his mind distantly wonder over the way the younger elves, like Legolas, seemed younger than he and his siblings despite their infinitely greater years, Harry approached the glum elf and lightly observed, "That looks like it is profoundly damaged. May I ask what happened?"

Looking up in surprise at the unfamiliar voice, the young warrior gaped for a moment before flushing lightly in embarrassment and stammering, "Um….Uruk-hai. I had mortally wounded it, but the new wall made for close quarters and it sent its blade through my quiver before it died."

Nodding in understanding, years, Harry examined the quiver from his slight distance. "You can't repair it, then?" The elf shook his head grimly. He hesitated a moment before adding, "This quiver belongs to my Ada. He gave it to me when I first made the rank of Warrior." His slightly catlike eyes remained focused on the ruined quiver in his hands.

Tilting his head to study the sad warrior, Harry made a decision and asked, "May I examine the quiver myself, please?"

The elven warrior looked startled for a moment before reluctantly handing it over. "Sure." He followed the quiver with his eyes as if he were afraid Harry would make it vanish. He glanced up quickly as a shadow crossed in front of him, to see that their interaction had gained the attention of Taorin, Landion and Daugion, as well as a few others. They watched quietly as the Istari examined the quiver.

Aware of the scrutiny, Harry carefully ran his hand over the quiver before calling his power and muttering, "_Reparo._" He smirked at the gasps of the warriors as the broken frame and torn leather healed and the quiver was once again whole. About to return it to the wondering elf, Harry had a sudden inspiration. Immediately after the battle at Helm's Deep, while he waited for Glorfindel to inspect the tent, he had spent a fair amount of thought trying to determine a way to easily and universally help to protect the Elven Warriors in dangerous situations. Focusing some of his magic in his palm, he carefully envisioned what he wanted the magic to do and delicately pushed it into the quiver. He and the gathered warriors watched as the magic glowed bright gold before being absorbed into the fabric of the quiver.

With an impish grin, Harry gently and reverently placed the quiver on the ground, as if laying a delicate ceramic out to dry. Gravely meeting the eyes of each of the puzzled but respectful Elves, he gestured for absolute silence. The tension built amongst the warriors as they watched him closely, waiting for whatever ritual or ceremony he planned. The shocked warriors were utterly unprepared for the Istari to summon a sword, utter a loud battle cry, and viciously attack the innocent pouch before them. The young warrior to whom the quiver belonged had just begun to react, reaching with horror for what was sure to be the scraps of his Ada's quiver, when Marcaunon's sword swept down with deadly force and landed blade first on the precious pouch.

No one was prepared, as well, for the flash of gold light that soundlessly thrummed at the sword strike and hurled a wildly laughing Istari ten feet through the air, to land catlike and cackling on the far side of the fire.

Daugion cautiously picked up the intact quiver and handed it to its stunned owner, all the while keeping his eyes on the maliciously grinning Marcaunon. As the young man regained his decorum, he cast a speculative gaze around at all the warriors and asked Daugion, "Do all Elves carry quivers?"

"Yes, Marcaunon," Daugion answered somewhat cautiously. "The only exceptions are children and certain elleths or scholars who are not meant to hunt or battle. All of us here in this camp carry quivers."

"Excellent. I want to see and touch every one of them, tonight, now. Can you get the warriors to bring their quivers and gather around me over there?" Harry asked, gesturing to a clear space near the edge of the camp. Willing to trust him, Daugion simply nodded and began issuing orders.

"Alright, let me explain. I've been trying to think of a way to ensure added protection and advantages for you during battle. This quiver is a good way to start. Daugion, can I have the original quiver back for a moment?" As the quiver that started Harry's brainwave was returned to him, the elves watched in silent fascination as the young man concentrated and the quiver in his hands again glowed. Satisfied, he handed it back and beckoned for the next.

As they watched him work, Landion quietly muttered to Daugion, "What is he doing? And why?" Although Daugion sent a quelling look at the irritating warrior, Marcaunon heard him and decided to explain. "First, I am doing this because we have accepted each other as kin, and I look after my own – whether they appreciate it or not." At that, several of the elves glared at Landion, who flushed but did not back down.

Harry didn't know what type of system the Elves had developed so quickly but he soon had a quiver in his hands focusing his magic once more like he did with the previous one.

Picking up another quiver, he recast the spells and handed it on. Soon there was an efficient assembly line going as Harry continued to explain, "As for what I am doing – well, I'm doing my best to keep you all safe and well. First, I am charming them to be weightless. Second, never ending, which means that once you put a certain type of arrow in there it will endlessly duplicate itself. If you put a set of ten arrows in, it will endlessly duplicate the ten, so theoretically you could also supply others with arrows at need. Third, I am adding charms to render it unbreakable, so that no one will worry about damaging their Ada's gift in battle. Finally, I am casting a shield on each—that's the bit that sent me flying over the fire, by the way. It will protect you back against sneak attacks from your rear or your blind spot. Although your front, you'll have to protect on your own, which based on your average skill level shouldn't be a problem."

"Is this what you did for Glorfindel?" Another elf asked.

"No, I created something special for him. He is my mate and deserves a unique protection. And, no, I will not tell," Harry replied good-naturedly, all the while mulling over additional types of advantages he could give his mate in battle. 'Hmmm, perhaps carving some runes on his sword as well.'

The elves chuckled at the questioner's disgruntled look before asking another question, "What type of leather do you four use? I have never seen anything like it."

They weren't expecting the slow, dark smile that crossed the handsome young face. They did, however, settle in for a long, thrilling story when Marcaunon said, "We each have items that are made from the hide of magical creatures. Most of it, like Angel's robes of nobility, were freely donated and are part of a private pact between Angel and the creature. On that topic, my friends, let me offer you a word of advice: never assume that the creatures and beings Angel talks about are not real. Even if you think you are right, you will always be wrong, got that?" At the perplexed but agreeable nods of the warriors, Harry grinned and continued, "Now, as for my own armors and some of the leather of my robes of nobility - That, my fine friends, would be mostly from a basilisk. Anyone ever hear of one?...No?... Well, then, let me tell you all about the first time I ever met a basilisk…"

Midway through the tale, Daugion and Taorin exchanged telling glances. This was definitely a story that needed to be retold to Glorfindel – soon. Each elf shuddered at the mere thought of the Balrog slayer hearing this tale about his own mate in mortal peril at a mere twelve years of age. No, indeed, the warrior needed to hear this before it became a topic of casual conversation, easily overheard by a protective Glorfindel.

It would keep the body count low.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**A Tale Told by Luna**

"I believe it would be best to start our tale with Marcaunon's own beginning, since his life is so intertwined with ours. As I said, in our original world, Terra, Marcaunon was known as Harry James Potter. As I tell this story, it would be best if I use our Terran names, which are Harry, Luna, Fred and George." Luna pointed to each of the twins as she named them, and Fred and George raised a hand at their former names. Legolas, Glorfindel, Haldir and Gimli each observed how dark and sad the Devils and Luna were. None of Fred & George's mischievousness or Luna's whimsy was in any way apparent; they were all somber and thoughtful, lost to their memories.

"From the day of his birth until he was 18 months old, Harry was happy. Even then, events were in motion to steal that from him. A prophecy was made, vague and amorphous. It could have lapsed into the seas of time and never been fulfilled, except that it suited the purposes of two evil and powerful men to set it in motion. They interpreted the prophecy in such a way that it could fit either of two boys, Harry and one other. But both the Dark Lord and the supposed Light Lord notched the prophecy like an arrow and aimed at Harry. As a result, his parents were ruthlessly murdered before he was even two years old, and the "Light Lord" – whose name was Dumbledore - manipulated every aspect of his life from then until he broke away just a few years ago. I would have you all understand that, although he supposedly led the side of Light, Dumbledore was truly an evil, manipulative, abusive wizard. He had half of the Wizarding World convinced that he was – well, was the Terran version of Gandalf."

Looks of comprehension dawned on the faces of each of the four listening. They began to understand the near-violent reaction the Demon Team had to the revered Istari, who had done little to change their opinion. Gimli began to feel sincere compassion for Marcaunon, with whom he had thus far had little interaction. The Dwarven warrior had seen and appreciated the young man's battle skills, and had been awed and a bit frightened at Marcaunon's magical prowess, but only now did the kind-hearted dwarf begin to see the vulnerable person behind the warrior Istari. Quietly watching Glorfindel's grim countenance, Gimli braced himself for what he suspected was to be a truly sad, dark tale about his four new friends. His family.

"Dumbledore saw in Harry an opportunity for him to regain past glory and to control the vast power and wealth that was Harry's birthright. If he ever even saw Harry as a person, much less as an innocent baby, he did not care. He wanted to be sure that Harry was submissive to him alone and utterly controllable. He raised Harry like a pig to slaughter." To hear the normally vivacious Luna speak in such a distant, even tone was chilling. The remote look in her eyes was deeply troubling to Haldir, who was watching his mate carefully as he listened to a tale he felt would rival any of the Elven Laments.

Glorfindel had seated himself on the hearth, by Gimli. His jaw was clenched and he concentrated on the floor as he listened, sitting bent forward with forearms resting on his thighs and hands locked. The tale was barely begun, and already he wanted to kill. He knew some of what was to come. This was going to be an ordeal to hear. He hoped Marcaunon was all right, out with the warriors. He was certain that his little mate was better off at the moment out there than in here, no matter how fiercely Glorfindel wanted his emerald-eyed imp in his arms.

"Dumbledore wanted Harry abused. He ensured that by placing him with his muggle relatives, vile people without honor or conscience, who loathed even the mention of magic. Dumbledore left Harry, who was not yet even two years old, barely covered, alone on the stoop in the middle of the night in the heart of winter. He left a letter that ensured they would hate and abuse Harry – and they did. He was their slave. He had no rights. He had little food. He had no name. No dignity. He slept in a tiny, dark, airless storage space under their stairs. He was punished for everything, and rewarded for nothing. At four years, he was a more skilled domestic servant than most of the adult servants we saw at Helm's Deep. Glorfindel, I know you have seen the scars that cover him. Very few of them were earned in battle. A few he got while 'safely' at school. But most were delivered by his own '_family_'," she spat the word out as if it were filth. Given the circumstances, it probably was. "His punishments were brutal, and given for every reason conceivable, including doing well in his education, trying to move out of the way when the muggles struck him, and getting his blood on their floors. By age six, he was also the prey in a sick game invented by his cousin and his gang – they called it 'Harry Hunting.' They would chase him til he collapsed in exhaustion, then some would pin him while the others pummeled him. Each bout ended only when all of the 'hunters' were too tired to continue. They were always surprised at how long he could run, or how quickly he healed, but Harry's magic was powerful even then."

Legolas looked through the tears in his own eyes and saw that the normally sparkling sapphire orbs of his mates were dull and flat. He was trembling uncontrollably. To the Elven people, a child, _any child_, was sacred. Even his own father had never done anything even remotely like any of what had been described for poor Marcaunon, and the tale had not yet progressed past age six yet! Wrapping Eredhion's hand tightly in his own, he turned his face into Sidhenidon's shoulder and continued to listen. This was the history of his family. He needed to pay attention, so that he knew who to help kill.

Like an automaton, Luna continued speaking. "Dumbledore did not account for Harry's strength of character, nor his power. Most magical children, in a situation of any abuse at all, unconsciously bind their own power in an effort to hide and to avoid punishment. You see, wizarding children are most often abused by muggles – non-magicals – when outburst of the child's magic frightens the muggle. But Harry did not bind his own powers; he would have a burst of accidental magic, and then analyze and control it, automatically. And his accidental magic alone showed how powerful he was, even then. For example, one common display of accidental magic happens when a child feels threatened. Usually, they react by reaching out to the person who will make the child feel safe, sending that person their voice or even a sudden urge to get to the child. But not only was Harry powerful, but there was no one, anywhere, who made him feel safe. So, when he was nine and his cousin had initiated a particularly vicious bout of Harry Hunting, Harry apparated himself to the roof of the school. His punishment was a week locked in his cupboard with a bucket for waste, a bottle of water, and no food. This was after the beating, of course."

At the looks of confusion and horror, Fred spoke up, "Apparation is like what we did at the end of the battle. Most wizards have to be seventeen years old just to be allowed to try, and over half don't get their license until they are twenty or so. Harry did it at nine. To appreciate that even more, understand that he did most of his work and his magic without food or proper sleep."

'Well, that certainly put things into perspective!' thought Gimli, taking out his pipe and a bag of Longbottom tobacco. He peered across at Legolas, to make sure the son of his heart was handling this reasonably well. Taking in the death grip the elf had on Eredhion's hands and the look of fury visible in the one blue eye that was not buried in Sidhenidon's shoulder, Gimli reckoned Legolas was handling this as well as could be expected. He wouldn't have minded someone to cling to, himself. Tamping his tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, he quietly listened as the monotone recitation continued.

"Eleven years old is when all magical children start their magical education. Like us, Harry was invited to Hogwarts. He thought he was being granted a reprieve, a chance at a whole new life. Unfortunately, Dumbledore ran the school. Now consider the fact that Harry was famous in the magical world, because the Dark Lord who murdered his parents was temporarily vanquished when he sent the Killing Curse at baby Harry. Of course, he knew nothing about it; he thought his parents were drunks who died in a vehicular accident. Suddenly, he was plunged into a bewildering world of magic, which he had been forbidden to even think about, and was revered and derided everywhere, by everyone, for everything. He was being hunted by the Dark Lord and all of his minions, who were even active in our school, and manipulated by Dumbledore and _his_ minions. The fact that he was actually safer with his muggle relatives than he was at Hogwarts will put that into perspective for you."

Glorfindel could only shake his head in horror and grieve for the lost childhood of his loving little mate. Most adults would buckle under such circumstances. To know that Harry endured and emerged victorious as a child was humbling. That he** had** to filled Glorfindel with rage. He clasped his hands tightly, forcing himself to remain seated and hear this in full. Afterwards, he would hold his beloved tightly and never let go, and he would spend the rest of eternity systematically destroying and replacing the nightmares that tortured his little mate with memories of love and safety and warmth.

Luna continued emotionlessly, and Haldir knew she did so because the force of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. In the face of such pain, one can only retreat. "Next are a lot of highlights and salient facts, most of which I will not elaborate on now in the interests of time. As I said, Harry was both revered and reviled for many things and by many people. There was no one in the wizarding world who did not have an opinion on Harry Potter, and most felt they had the right to force him to listen to them. Even the newspapers – sort of a common way of dispersing news in written form throughout the world without use of bards – loved to hate him, and hated to love him. Just like his first eleven years, he could do nothing that won approval, despite repeatedly saving the sheeple from threats and beings none of the adults would face. For example, Harry has a rare magical ability; he is a parselmouth. He speaks Parseltongue, the language of serpents. The talent is neither bad nor good, it just _is_. But most of the Wizarding World see it as a Dark or evil skill because the Dark Lord who killed Harry's parents and so many others (whose name, by the way, was Voldemort) was a parselmouth." At the raised eyebrows and incredulous looks on the Ardans, Luna nodded seriously. "Yes, I know. It's like saying that because Voldemort liked the color yellow, anyone else who liked yellow was evil. Completely stupid." ("And completely normal for Wizards," interjected George.) "So, Harry used Parseltongue to keep a deadly snake from killing a fellow student, and was immediately vilified. He was shunned by his 'friends' and attacked in the hallways and classrooms. Certain teachers harassed him, while others made it clear they were disapproving or ashamed of him. His closest friends of the time, a shallow-souled girl who worshipped at Dumbledore's feet and… well…," Luna hesitated, glancing at the twins.

George smiled darkly while Fred said in a low, even tone, "Never hide from the truth, Luna. You taught us that. The second so-called 'best friend' who betrayed and broke Harry's faith was our own youngest brother, Ron. A more jealous, selfish, greedy prat of a person you will never meet. We may as well also say that our only sister by birth, Ginevra, did her fair share of breaking Harry Potter down."

"Most of our former family did, actually," George mused softly. "I am still amazed and grateful that Harry gave us a chance."

After pausing for a drink to lubricate her throat, pressed upon her by an insistent and concerned Haldir, Luna continued. She told them about the Sorcerer's Stone, and all of the trials Harry had endured and the dangers he faced, including a troll, a baby dragon, a possessed professor who drank the blood of unicorns he'd murdered, and the Dark Lord Voldemort. She spoke of Harry's second year, and the Chamber of Secrets, and all of the horrors and traumas heaped upon him through the concerted efforts of the two Dark Lords and their various minions (not to mention their own classmates and teachers). She spoke of the betrayals, large and small, that began to break Harry down. She spoke of his summers with the Durlseys, and of the fanatical house elf Dobby. She spoke of the Death Eaters 'demonstration' at the World Quidditch Cup, and all of the trauma heaped upon Harry by the Ministry of Magic and Dumbledore. She spoke of Dementors, which seemed to Glorfindel and Haldir to be like the Ringwraiths of Middle Earth, of giant spiders and more horrors and heartache than any of the listeners could reasonably comprehend.

Haldir found that he was losing composure. He had lived millennia, and had faced his own share of horrors and dark creatures, but he knew that young Harry had endured more in the fourteen years recounted thus far than Haldir had in his thousands. This was insanity! How could the child possibly have endured, even with the blessing of Angel and the Devils? How had any of them? Looking at the stone-faced Glorfindel, scowling Gimli and visibly shuddering Legolas, he saw he was not alone in his dark thoughts. Haldir was fairly certain that the next time Gandalf – or _anyone_ – condescended to or mistreated Marcaunon, that person would find themselves the immediate focus of Elven blades and one very sharp Dwarven axe. Casting a glance at Legolas, Haldir smirked as he thought that the young prince would perhaps be the most deadly of them all, sending deadly arrows expertly into the form of anyone lucky enough – or foolish enough - to flee. The Demon Team had doubled in membership during the past two days, after all.

Luna sipped again at the drink Haldir had given her, pausing for a moment to collect her thoughts. After a few moments reflection, she continued softly, "Although he had been raised to be submissive and was expertly manipulated by Dumbledore to be unquestioning of authority, Harry was considerably smarter than they knew. It did not take him long to realize that too much was happening that could have been prevented, or that should have been handled by responsible adults. Harry was the consummate survivor, and he maintained the image of the 'Golden Boy' that he was supposed to be while analyzing and evaluating everything beneath his mask. He saw through Dumbledore almost immediately, and began to suspect Hermione and Ron – his 'friends' – within a year or so. It hurt him so badly, though, and he kept trying to maintain the friendship despite their betrayal. He just wanted someone to be his true friend. Unfortunately, we were all kept at a distance by the blockades and machinations of Dumbledore and his toadies."

The summer of his third year, Harry ran away from his relatives. Their treatment of him had only escalated, and with the arrival of a supposed aunt whose contribution was viciously insulting his parents, having her dogs attack him (while they watched and laughed), and teaching Vernon the finer points of how to cane a 'freak', Harry finally cracked. He retaliated – though not intentionally and not permanently – and ran. He hid in the Wizarding World, and for the first time he visited the Wizarding Bank of Gringott's without a chaperone. You've read the letter from the goblins, so you know that they became his allies."

Legolas and Gimli reacted to that with utter shock and bewilderment. Haldir and Glorfindel could not help but laugh, despite the somberness of the tale being told, as they realized that neither the young prince nor the dwarf had any knowledge at all of the Lost Tribe returning. Glorfindel raised placating hands and quickly commanded, "Later. I know you want an explanation now, but there is too much else of importance at present. When this tale is done, you may ask your mates." The two reluctantly conceded the point, and tried to put the tantalizing thought into the back of their minds.

"The goblins educated him. They told him the truth, and gave him access to training, and information, and his vaults, which gave him his heritage as well as his wealth. He learned that he was nobility, and that when he came of age he would be Lord Potter as well as Lord of a few other Noble and Ancient Houses. It was at this point that Harry began to control his own life. He learned – well, everything. Pureblood etiquette, law, history, magical theory, military history and tactics, languages, creature cultures. Just, everything. He learned, and he trained. He was furious to realize that physical strength is the basis of magical strength. Dumbledore had intentionally arranged for him to be kept physically weak and underdeveloped, in another machination to control Harry's strength and manipulability. Harry immediately began to correct that by purchasing potions from the goblins that helped overcome his malnutrition and some of the damage to his body, and then he began to train."

"And, oh my Merlin, can that boy train!" Fred moaned pathetically. George snorted in agreement, and Luna offered a small, amused smile. Legolas, Haldir and Gimli were each happy to see some normal interaction between the three, minimal as it was. Glorfindel remained tightly focused on the tale.

"Harry began a training regimen designed to hone his body and his abilities to their utmost capacity. He took up running and strength exercises. He swam across Black Lake every morning, regardless of the weather. (That's how he befriended the Giant Squid and the merfolk.) He began to study martial arts, and contacted Weaponsmasters through Gringott's that trained him in all manner of offense and defense. He was completely driven."

It was around this time, during his third year at school – he was thirteen years old, if you're wondering – when he learned of another betrayal by Dumbledore. Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, was to have been Harry's guardian. But if that happened, Dumbledore would have no control over Harry; Sirius was no fool, not by a long shot. So Dumbledore kidnapped Harry within an hour or so of his parents' deaths (and yes, Dumbledore orchestrated that event, too, although Voldemort did the deed) and told Sirius that the ex-friend who had betrayed the family had kidnapped Harry." Here, Luna paused for a moment, before saying reflectively, "I suppose, in that at least, Dumbledore spoke truly, although he was actually speaking of himself."

Shaking her head in dismissal, she plowed on, "While trying to rescue Harry, Sirius was accused of a mass murder committed by another, and was imprisoned without trial. He was tortured daily by Dementors and guards for over ten years. He should have been insane within one year, at most, but he endured and escaped – a supposedly impossible task – when Harry was thirteen. Sirius Black was the second person Dumbledore underestimated greatly. I suppose since Dumbledore had no true loyalty or love, he couldn't comprehend the sheer _will_ Sirius had to survive and to protect Harry. It is ironic that Dumbledore's greatest weakness was that for which he often accused others."

"When Harry and Sirius met, they had very little time together. Enough time to bond. Enough time to learn the truth. Even to make a few plans. But Sirius was considered an escaped convict, and there was a kill-on-sight order on him. He resisted, but in the end Harry prevailed, and he sent Sirius and his oldest friend Remus into hiding at an untraceable property across the ocean. Both men fought to remain, just to be there for Harry, but Harry had already lost everyone who ever mattered to him. He felt that, if they stayed, neither Sirius nor Remus would live long, and Harry knew he would never survive losing them, too. So, they took certain precautions, and went into hiding."

It was at this point that Harry really began to lose 'Harry' and become 'Demon.' He lost most of his compassion, along with his faith in people. He never flagged in his training, and learned everything the goblins were willing to teach or contract for him. It was during this time, his fourth year (age fourteen), that an incredibly dangerous tournament was held in our world between our school and two others. Only wizards or witches of seventeen or older were able to enter. Naturally, that meant that Harry's name was drawn and he was forced to compete, despite his refusal and protests. He even swore a magical oath that he had not put his name in, and yet no one except we three, Sirius and Remus believed him. Ron and Hermione betrayed him again – that was the true, final straw for Harry with regard to them … with regard to everyone, actually. He became cold, isolated, untouchable. He was harassed everywhere he went, and he had done nothing to deserve it. He never deserved it. Never!"

At this point, Luna's careful impassivity began to crack, and the anguish she felt throbbed in her voice and twisted her face as she struggled to keep hold of her waning control. When Haldir seized her and pulled her into his arms, she surrendered to the welling emotion and buried her face in his neck as she sobbed. Gimli and Glorfindel were stunned, having never witnessed a single moment when the luminous blond was anything but less than in control of her emotions. She was whimsical, lighthearted, deadly, dangerous, funny and earthy, but while they had seen her concerned for her family, they had never even imagined her weeping. Somehow, the Angel had seemed to be so in tune with herself and the world around her that she had no need to cry. Watching the woman cling to a deeply protective Haldir, they realized that she, like Marcaunon and the Devils, wore a mask. She showed the world a layer of herself, one that was genuine and accurate, but which covered the deeper, more wounded truth of Luna.

Legolas was confused when his mates inexplicably relaxed when Ithilwen dissolved into tears in Haldir's arms. He would have thought they would have reacted with worry and stress. As Eredhion issued a long, relieved sigh and Sidhenidon face softened, Legolas understood. The twins had known that their sister was near shattering. He had not known her long, a matter of mere hours, but he did know that this was not a woman for whom an impassive face and emotionless speech was normal. This woman was many things, but not icily controlled. Now that she was weeping, she was releasing the pain that had been building within her. And she was being comforted by her own, loving mate. And so, his mates could relax a bit and worry over her less.

Repetitively caressing the joined hands of his mates as they rested in his lap, Legolas wished he could offer greater comfort to them. He felt that this experience, telling of events that had scarred and marred and shaped the little family, was akin to tearing a scab off a festering wound. It hurt, and was deeply upsetting, but it was necessary if healing was to begin. He spared a thought for Marcaunon, but realized that Glorfindel was best suited to the task of comforting and healing his truemate. Legolas had two to worry about; that was more than enough.

As Luna began to calm, George cleared his throat and sat forward a bit. He studied his sister for a moment, and offered her a reassuring smile. "Luna, girl, you've done magnificently. We'll take over now. Haldir, take care of her or I'll gut you." Those in the room were amused at the fact that Haldir didn't even acknowledge the threat, fully and completely focused on the woman in his arm. George heaved another great sigh, and began.

"This was the time when our family came together. Fred and I had known Harry since day one of his first year at school, but we tried to give him the space we felt he needed. Unfortunately, the two youngest of our birth siblings sank their hooks in him and did major damage to his faith in people. When the tournament was announced, we tried to enter even though we were too young. The magical consequence of that was a change in appearance, which we laughed off in public but ended up fighting with each other about once we were along. In truth, we were just embarrassed and disappointed, but we took it out on each other. Harry happened along during the argument, and stopped us with one command. Then he waved his wand and in less than ten seconds we were back to normal. We thanked him and insulted each other, he smiled – a real, genuine smile – and left. But that smile really hit us hard, you see? Harry had been just so cold, so sad, that we vowed to make him smile at least once a day from then on. And we did, too! No one else – well, Luna-girl, of course, who 'good morning'd' him to death until he started smiling back and talking to her – got any kind of expression from him. When his name was drawn and all hell broke loose on his head, we happened upon him and … well, it was very emotional and such, but we swore brotherhood." George tried to lighten the moment, but the look in his eyes betrayed his deep emotion.

Fred continued the tale. "That's when we became the trio of brothers. We went everywhere together. Harry had warned us when we swore blood that he would crucify anyone who hurt us, and we vowed the same. Had already kind of done the same, in fact, to Ron. It became well-known that if you went after one of us, you went after all of us, and we were vengeful bastards. By this time, most of our birth family and Dumbledore and pretty much everyone was anti-Harry, and he had nothing to give to anyone but us, and Luna, and his godparents."

"And Hedwig, of course," Luna murmured. At Glorfindel's inquiring eyebrow, she explained, "Harry's owl."

The four listeners blinked for a moment, before Haldir said carefully, "Harry's…._owl_?" At the affirmative nods, the listeners filed this away along with some of the other bits and pieces they wanted to revisit later.

Fred rambled on, absentmindedly plaiting and unplaiting a lock of Legolas' fair hair as he spoke, "Over the Yule break, George and I experienced a – parting of the ways, I guess – with our birth family. They were unapologetically and proudly up Dumbledore's arse, and since he said that Harry was now to be reviled, that's what they did. We were furious, and refused to abandon Harry, and called them a lot of names they didn't appreciate." His jaw clenched for a moment as he dealt with the dark memory. "They disinherited us. We returned to school without a name, without a heritage. In the eyes of the wizarding world, we were officially nothing. But we were Harry's brothers, and would never, ever abandon him."

The quiet passion in his voice spoke more profoundly than had he shouted the words. Legolas could not help but shiver in response, enraptured at the depth and the honor that lived within his mates.

"When Harry heard about it, he went after them, but not before giving us a name to be proud of as well more familial love than we had received from our birth family. And he took them down, hard! He did to them what had been done to him over and over and over. He used the newspapers that vilified him, and the sheeple-mentality of the Wizarding public against them. The beauty of it is that he used the truth about our birth family to destroy them – published every illegal act, every dark secret, every offense that each of them had committed (and may I say, even we had no idea how low our former family had sunk!), and by the time Harry was done, the Weasley family had nothing left. No good name, no money, no respect, no safety, nothing. They even tried to appeal to Georgie and I, asking us for money and trying to 're-inherit' us, and they actually had the stupidity to be offended and shocked that we refused and wouldn't convince Harry to help them!"

This time it was Haldir who blinked in shock when his sweet, funny little mate uttered an inelegant snort and hissed, "Fuckwads!" He heard the twins break into laughter, but was still staring at his mate as she gazed unapologetically back at him.

Now George spoke up, "Our little sister here soon joined the fold. She had used her inimitable Luna-ness to conquer our stalwart brother. From daily 'good mornings', Harry eventually found himself smiling and having actual conversations with our darling Angel. But little Luna was another 'misfit', if you will. She was the victim of some serious bullying, the true extent of which we did not know until much later into our relationship." He cast a remonstrating glare at Luna. "But just after the second task, Luna's classmates took it to a level that actually sent her fleeing from the castle in tears. Harry followed. That's the night they bonded as siblings in spirit. When they returned to dinner, Harry just promised Luna vengeance. And he took it! He did the same thing to her tormentors that he'd done to the Weasleys, although this time he used the goblins, who were delighted to help. When the newspapers came out that showcased every one of the people who had hurt her and destroyed them and their families with pure truth, Luna became our sister officially. And everyone knew to stay the hell away from us."

Haldir's arms had tightened around his Angel as George spoke of her troubles in school. His head came down to rest against hers at the next revelation.

"Later, when Harry asked Luna's father why he had not protected his daughter or taken any action in the previous years, the man replied that he was busy with his magazine. You would have thought Harry had asked why he hadn't changed his socks, he was so disinterested. We have since learned that Luna reminded the man of her mother, who died when she was eight or so – in front of Luna, I might add – and so he just chose to mostly forget he ever had a daughter. He treated her like baggage. He basically punished her for his grief, so that she lost both parents but only got to bury one and had to live with the animated corpse of the other…. When he found all of this out, Harry was furious. Our little sister was neglected and bullied because she had similar looks and Seer-sight as her mother, the woman her father claimed to have loved. Who tortured a child because he loved their mother?" he spat furiously.

Luna murmured sardonically, "Counting Snape, I can think of two people." The twins huffed in angry concert at that, then visibly focused on the story being told.

"Harry verbally gave the man a brand-new orifice, and then demanded that he surrender all rights to Luna so that Harry could blood-adopt her. It didn't matter that he wasn't legal age, he was the scion and the last surviving member of the House of Potter, which made him a de factor Lord. Old Lovegood was quite shocked, apparently, although I still can't fathom why. It didn't help 'Daddy's' plight any that the Lovegoods were sworn to the House of Potter anyway; they were actually legally and morally obligated to obey Lord Potter. "

As she soaked in the comfort Haldir offered, Luna quietly confessed, "It hurt, a bit. I still remember when he was my Daddy. But Harry made it better. He was always there helping with my homework and protecting me better than a bodyguard. And the twins fit in my heart like they always belonged there anyway."

Offering a loving smile at his little sister, Fred doggedly resumed the story of their lives before Arda. "So, at this point, we four were officially a family. Got the nifty black tips to our hair and everything! But the damn tournament was still going, deadly and ridiculous as ever. Lots of Death Eater action going on. The last event went horribly wrong for Harry; he was kidnapped, tortured, sliced open as an unwilling sacrifice to re-embody Voldemort, tortured again, forced to duel the bastard while his minions laughed, tortured again, and finally escaped, only to be almost kidnapped again by another minion of the Dark Lord. Then he was interrogated by Dumblefuck and the Minister of Magic, only to have most of the Wizarding World – including the Minister and _his_ minions – declare him an attention-seeking liar and insane. It was … Merlin. It was just so awful. It was all just so… awful," Fred trailed off weakly, running a shaking hand over his face as the memories swarmed. Seeing his brother's body bleeding and weak had affected them all, their brother was so strong and to see him that way hurt.

George was about to extend an arm over to comfort his twin when Legolas solved the problem by climbing right into Fred's lap and wrapping his arms tightly around his surprised mate's waist. Fred smiled at his brother as he pressed a kiss into their elf's platinum hair, willingly sliding over a bit to settle against his twin, giving and seeking comfort as they both embraced their mate. Legolas slid his legs over George's as he kept his arms around Fred, determined to show them both that he cared very much that that they had such a sad background. In comparison to their lives, his struggles to please his demanding royal parent seemed almost petty, although he knew his mates would be displeased if he ever said that aloud. Seeing the three holding tightly to each other, Luna valiantly took up the tale again.

"This was when Harry sent Sirius and Remus into even deeper hiding. He refused to allow them to be endangered by those who would use them to get to Harry, and that included all the major players -Dumbledore and Voldemort and the Ministry – and their respective minions. There was no one left for Harry to trust but us, his godparents, and the goblins. The goblins were in no danger and were untouchable. We three flat-out refused to do anything but tighten ranks and train hard; we were _not going anywhere_ without Harry. And Harry was in greater danger than ever, because Dumbledore was now certain that his 'weapon' was escaping the old goat's control."

"Earlier that year his ex-friends abandoned him on Dumbledore's say-so, but now, out of nowhere – well, maybe out of his withered old ass! - our _esteemed_ **(sneer)** headmaster and the prats who obeyed him wanted to pick up as friends and mentor with Harry as if nothing had happened at all. Dumbledore wanted his weapon back, otherwise, how could he orchestrate things so he could again be looked on as a great wizard? They all accosted him in a hallway, if you can believe that, and invited him to join Dumbledore's fucking Order. They apparently didn't even consider the fact that he'd say no, and couldn't believe it when Harry just stared at them blankly before walking away. The headmaster took offense,"…. ("More like, tried to re-assert control," scowled Fred)…" and contacted Harry's relatives, offering lucrative incentives provided that they used the summer to break Harry. They sure tried, too. That summer was the worst for Harry. Daily beatings and the smallest amounts of food. A muggle would have died. A less-powerful wizard would have died. But not Harry." Luna looked with sympathy at Glorfindel, who was unable to remain seated at the heart and was now pacing like a caged animal. She wanted to end this, to make love with her mate and eat dinner with her family and forget all about the past, but these were ghosts that needed to be revealed before they could be put to rest.

"It took Harry four weeks to escape. He used the last of his physical strength, just barely apparating away from a killing blow by Vernon, landing straight in Gringott's lobby. He broke right through their wards, utterly startling the goblins. Harry had always treated them with the respect of equals, and they returned the favor. They gave him immediate medical attention, treating him for all of his injuries and even repaired his eyesight, which had been terrible up til then. During this time, the goblins performed rituals unknown to wizards that healed the last of the damage from malnutrition, increased his ability to understand and retain knowledge. They also pointed to the books and vaults he needed to access. He was already heavily training with his weaponsmasters, and later had us join him in this, martial arts training, etc. This was also before we started to learn wandless magic," Luna paused as she and the twins winced in memory of those painful, hard-won bruises.

"The next school year was when Harry was repeatedly mind-raped by a professor who loathed and abused him, on the orders of both the _esteemed_ Headmaster," Luna sneered, "and Voldemort. It was disguised as training, and that's why Harry agreed. He thought he was failing to learn, and didn't realize that Snape was failing to teach. He went through weeks of repeated mind-rape, feeling like his mind was being torn open – which it was – before he sought more information from the sources in his vaults, and when he confirmed his suspicions he asked the Goblins for referrals to skilled teachers of the Mind Arts. He told Snape to … well… he told Snape that he quit, and that if he revealed that fact or anything he had stolen from Harry's mind to Dumbledore, Harry would report him to the ministry by way of public newspapers for repeated mind-rape of a minor." Luna sighed distractedly, and rubbed her forehead. She was really, really tired of talking about all of this. Casting a speculative look at the twins, she decided to summarize a bit more and speed this up a bit.

"Around this time, Harry witnessed Dumbledore talking to someone who was wearing an obscuring spell. They were in a forbidden hallway, but that never stopped Harry. He heard them talk about the prophecy that started all of this. Harry suspected that the prophecy, if it existed at all, had been manipulated by Dumbledore and/or Voldemort, but the only way to know was to sneak into the place in the Ministry building where our prophecies are held. He was going to go alone, since he did not want to get us involved. He hadn't yet learned that where he goes, we go, although he changed his tune after this adventure. Apparently, the person Dumbledore was talking to was Snape, who was a spy for both Dumbledore and Voldemort, depending on who offered the best deal. Snape tricked Voldemort, with the result being that Harry and Voldemort picked the same night to break in and view the prophecy. As they say 'and a great battle commenced'! That was an eye opener for the twins and me. While we were able to hold our own and escape with a few scratches, Harry was just stunning in battle. We realized how effective Harry's training was, as we did all right, but how much better we could be. We all knew that Harry was powerful but the strength and magnitude that his spells were casted were unbelievable. The only reason the Dark Lord escaped that night was because he made direct eye contact with Harry as he touched Harry's skin and possessed him for a brief moment, trying to bring forth the anger and misery, the loneliness and despair that Harry kept tightly locked. Harry was able to throw him out thanks to the occlumency he learned from the trainer he hired. If he'd left it to Snape, we'd all be dead right now. Anyway, Voldemort and his people escaped.

We returned to school with no one the wiser, and tripled our training and research. Harry never returned to his relatives. He told them and Dumbledore to shove it, had Gringott's help him become an emancipated minor (which made him an adult), and brought us all to a heavily warded Potter Manor."

"That summer was hell. If we thought Harry was obsessive during school it was nothing like he was during the summer. We had ten hours of sleep each night but the rest of the day was continuous training. Since we had mastered the school curriculum, Harry had us start over using only wandless and non-verbal spells, relearning all the spells, as well as mastering new ones. The Manor had a huge, private library and a secure connection to Gryffindor's castle, which was rumored to be myth. We trained and researched and learned from ensouled paintings of Harry's ancestors."

"Believe me when I say, that school year offered no academic challenges. Voldemort was quiet and rumored to have gone into hiding. Dumbledore gave up on Harry (yea!) and started promoting the other boy the prophecy could have fit as the true hero destined to save them all. On his emancipation, Harry took up all of his Lordships and set about instituting new laws and changing the older ones, working not just to end the war but to improve the world. As we were now members of the Potter Family, we were expected to accompany our Beloved Demon to all of the political and social functions, where we learned how to deal with kiss-asses and brown-nosers." The vulgar expressions startled laughs out of Haldir and Gimli. Glorfindel stood, a grim and silent sentinel, listening intently.

"For the record, the twins handled much of the political obligations and Harry graduated with some of the highest honors ever recorded, which was of course not received well by his enemies. No one publicly attacked him or us, though, having learned from before and that was when his political power was minimal. Done with school, we escalated our training to include small surgical strikes against Death Eaters to test our skills. We practiced stealth and spying. We learned to work together in all combinations. When I graduated, I also passed with some of the highest marks and honors. We worked on bringing down both sides of the war and weakening and rebuilding the Ministry, with the goal of unifying the Wizarding World and eliminating the opportunity for any more 'Voldemorts' or 'Dumbledores'."

"It wasn't till Harry 20th birthday that we finally found a ritual that would send all pieces of our enemies' souls to the Beyond. We actually chose not to read the consequences of casting the Ritual, preferring to deal with the fallout afterward. By this point, we were just sick of the whole damn thing, you know? I suppose we should count it as some of Harry's amazing luck that we didn't read it, as we wouldn't be here if we did! After all, it apparently only mentioned being sent where we are needed, meeting our soulmates was a bonus by the Valar." At this, Legolas could only offer a weak smile, unsettled that his present happiness could have balanced on such a fine blade's edge.

Luna flexed her shoulders, trying to work the kink out of her back, and hummed happily as Haldir immediately began to massage her muscles for her. She truly, deeply loved her mate – and his talented hands. "It took us several months of practice before we were ready. All we needed was for the final battle – or at least, a big battle with both Dumbledore and Voldemort participating - to take place. As classic Harry-luck goes, the final battle took place on his birthday. I believe both Dark Lords chose that date intentionally, thinking it would somehow wound or disempower Harry in the eyes of the magical communities. Once again, they underestimated Harry. None of them realized that Harry had gained friends and alliances with several magical species, or that the Goblins were spying for us to let us know when it would happen. The end was rather anticlimactic as we appeared and began fighting our way to our enemies, with our opponents on both sides retreating and leaving us a wide open berth to the two Idiots." She pouted cutely, making Haldir wish he could interrupt the tale long enough to capture that tempting lower lip with his own. Winking at him knowingly, she patted him on the arm and said, "Almost done, Handsome!...Anyway, we began to chant the ritual when we got to the battling bastards that started it all, who were gaping at us like spoiled children who had been told 'No!'. They were still gaping as we finished the ritual and Harry severed their heads from the rest of them. I distinctly recall noting how two dead bodies equaled four thuds in the mud. Like I said very anticlimactic. Then we left for home, and that was the last the Wizarding World ever saw of us. A couple of weeks later, and here we are!"

Haldir chuckled at his vengeful angel, and immediately leaned down to kiss away the pout that had been tormenting him. Although he heard Legolas ask the twins to explain about their wings, Glorfindel decided that his own mate could give him the rest of the story – much, much later. He needed that young man in his arms, right now.

Striding purposefully from the tent, he looked around in momentary bewilderment at the abandoned camp before his excellent hearing led him to where he heard a faint murmur of voices in a nearby open field. He saw his beautiful mate sitting on the grass surrounded by warriors, who were listening intently with glee akin to elflings' as Harry told them his own tale. The tall warrior devoutly hoped that this story was considerably happier than the one he had just heard, although from what he heard Harry saying, he was certain that it, too, had the power to cause him great anxiety on behalf of his melanin.

"I was just lucky that Dragon was both rational and kind enough to listen to my pleas as it chased me around the castle! I mean here I was flying on a broom, hissing in Parseltongue back at the dragon that I just wanted to help her! She finally heard me, but her tail was already in action as it swung down at me. Talk about power! Yet another time when I damn near died. She ended up saving me, though, and carried me back to the tournament arena like I was her own hatchling! The silence was deafening; all I could hear was the Twins cackling like madmen. It was hilarious! She set me down, and then allowed me to approach her eggs and take the fake one. Then she sent a bout of flame right at the Judges' stand. Whatever fabric Dumbledore's robes were made out of burned like dry grass! Fun day." With a sigh of reminiscence, Harry concluded the tale.

Glorfindel just shook his head in wonder at how calm and relatively happy his mate was. Knowing – and really understanding - that he could have lost his beloved several times without ever meeting him was terrifying the legendary warrior. Defeater of balrogs be damned, right now Glory just needed to hold his mate close. He had to touch the younger man, feel his warmth and hear his breath and assure himself that Harry was truly here in Middle Earth, in Glorfindel's arms, and not an impossibly-perfect figure born of his imagination and his own, lonely soul.

Returning Harry's welcoming smile and beckoning arm with his own, almost-tearful smile, Glorfindel took the offered hand and immediately went to his knees by the raven-haired, emerald-eyed beauty. Settling down behind Harry, Glory wrapped his muscular arms around Harry's waist, burying his head into Harry neck and hair, gratefully breathing his mate's unique scent. He registered Harry's arms as they wrapped around his own, and ignored everyone else, focusing his entire being on the sheer sensation of being with his mate.

After a moment of silence, in which the two simply experienced the pleasure of being quietly pressed against each other, Harry relaxed fully into his hold and began another tale for the respectful warriors, letting his voice wash over Glorfindel and comfort his slowly-calming mate.


	7. Chapter 7 All the Ways of Bonding

CHAPTER 7

**A/N**: Two quick notes: (1) Remember, folks, this is M-rated! (2) If anyone wants it, I can give you a site for Sindarin translations. For now, though, **aglar** means "glorious" and **herven** means "husband."

Also, I (WyrdSmith) hate the fact that this story has so few reviews. I'm not begging reviews, because I cherish those we do have. I am troubled because I think this is a good story, and I know there are some faithful readers. (And those I didn't reply to yet last chapter, I am really sorry. Got lost in life drama, but I'm back!) The point is, I think the story itself deserves more readers. So, no, I'm not begging reviews – but word of mouth to recommend this story would be a huge gift to the hardworking authors! Thank you, Pikachumomma, for always doing the first draft – this story wouldn't move fast at all without you doing that first bout of heavy-lifting. Send the lady thank-yous, folks!

Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

oooooooooooooooooooo

**STORY TIME**

Any person happening upon the scene in the field that evening would have found a strange innocence in the picture presented by the wide-eyed Elven warriors seated busily fletching arrows in the long, sweet grass, gathered at twilight in a half circle around the raven-haired, storytelling Istari and his powerful, golden-haired mate. It did not escape the listening elves' notice that Glorfindel, known far and wide as The Balrog Slayer, was mated to a young man who himself had just related three autobiographical stories in which he had battled and either defeated or befriended several other monstrous beasts. Glorfindel was not present for Marcaunon's tale of the great basilisk, and his absence during that story was both a relief and a worry to some of the more experienced warriors. It was a worry because someone, at some point in the near future, was going to have to ensure that Glorfindel heard the tale intentionally, because the thought of him accidentally overhearing it was enough to make the deadly sword-dancers quail in their boots. It was a relief because, so far, that story featured the youngest Glorfindel's mate had been in any of the harrowing tales of his adventures, and the wise warriors did not wish to be anywhere near the powerful elf when he learned that his beloved mate had fought and killed a monstrous, deadly serpent and a dark wizard at the tender age of twelve years, especially while older, experienced Istari were within the very same building and did nothing. Even for the race of men, twelve years was far too tender an age for such an experience. To an elf, twelve years was barely out of nappies.

On the other hand, Marcaunon's other tales this evening weren't much more comforting; after all, the young man was only twenty years of age now, and thus far had shared with the captivated warriors the tales of the basilisk, of a deadly tournament involving a nesting mother dragon, and was now ending a tale of how the youth had confronted and befriended a giant squid and a race of sea-dwelling warriors as he attempted to train himself for a war that rivaled their own in blood and horror. To an elf, the warriors each felt deep sympathy for Glorfindel, who even when he approached the field tonight had been markedly upset by something involving his mate and the other newcomers. When he joined them during Marcaunon's tale of the dragon's golden egg, Glorfindel's face had been drawn and tense, and the look in his eyes was that of a person who had witnessed his own version of Hell. Judging from how he clung to his mate, Marcaunon had featured prominently in that nightmare. Glorfindel had said nothing, he had simply seated himself behind Marcaunon and wrapped himself around his mate, burying his face in the wild, black hair and holding on as if he was convinced his mate would disappear if he let go for even a moment.

There had been a moment or two when the seated warriors wondered if they should stay or leave, willing to do whichever was most helpful for their Commander. But Marcaunon was calm and simply welcomed his mate's arms around him and his warm presence against his back, as if the warrior's state of mind was expected and understandable. After a quiet moment of comfort, the young man simply launched into another tale and the warriors stayed, a captive audience, while Glorfindel soaked in the presence of his mate. No one really thought overmuch of their Commander's state of mind; it seemed reasonable to assume that the elf had learned something else about his mate's past that was upsetting. Given that the tales the young man considered "lighthearted" involved monstrous, deadly beasts attempting to kill him, it was understandable that anything else to be learned of the Istari and his family would be enough to render a warrior somewhat needy. Any one of the hardened warriors would react the same had they learned their friends or family had endured even one of Marcaunon's lighter adventures. The very idea of having such a tale told about a rare, deeply-treasured truemate…! Frankly, Glorfindel was winning more respect by the simple fact that he had not already wrapped the young Istari in silk and fur and carried him away to the safest place he could find.

"And that, my friends, is why one should never tempt the mer-folk into singing above water, especially around the two Original Marauders who actually have the sensitive hearing of dogs and wolves!" Harry declared with a grin. He briefly raised one hand in a gesture that caused music to burst into the air in a dramatic flourish, then returned to lightly petting the rock-hard arms wrapped around his waist. Glancing at the setting sun, he blinked in surprise. "Well! I'm sure you'd all prefer to just sit here in the grass listening to me prattle on about my childhood, but judging by the deepening shadows I'd say we're missing the hour of the evening meal."

Daugion and the others looked around in surprise, only just now realizing how the hours had passed so rapidly. Some of the elves yelped and ran toward the camp to inspect the still-cooking meat, while the others gathered their newly-charmed quivers and the arrows they had been fletching and rose to their feet. As they left, many of the warriors were adamantly of the opinion that they had no desire to ever see the world of Terra. Others noted that they could not decide if they did, or did _not_, wish to be around if ever the Marauders met Lord Elrond's twins, Elladan and Elrohir. Add the Devils into that mix, and there was no more need for most to look for good nightmare material.

Andenion, the young (elvishly speaking, anyway) warrior whose damaged quiver had started Harry's latest protection efforts, approached somewhat diffidently. He had relaxed a bit around Marcaunon, but Glorfindel was another story. "Marcaunon? I wish to thank you for repairing Ada's quiver and for the work you did to aid us and help us stay safe. It was kind and generous of you, and I am grateful."

Both Harry and Glory looked up at the embarrassed elf in mild surprise. Harry simply smiled warmly and nodded in acknowledgement, while Glorfindel met the younger warrior's eyes and let his approval show clearly. Seeing this, Andenion stood a little straighter. Turning to leave, he paused briefly and asked, "Would you be willing to share more of your past with us sometime? This was a very enjoyable evening, and I think we actually managed to fletch more arrows in this brief time than we would have normally."

Harry grinned happily as he declared in the manner of one repeating an often-heard statement, "Many hands make light work." He laughed outright at Andenion's puzzled nod and cautious agreement. "That's something my favorite teacher liked to say. She would line us all up in front of plants to be repotted or a field to be weeded, and say those words in answer to anyone's complaints. She was right, too. Awesome lady. Anyway, it fit the possible fletching statistics!... and, sure, I'll be happy to be the bard of the hour again. Maybe next time I'll tell you all about the troll in the bathroom."

Daugion, Landion and Taovin all exchanged meaningful looks, before Daugion asked with dread, "And how old were you during the troll incident, Marcaunon? Fifteen? Sixteen?" When Harry chirped, "Eleven! But I was mature for my age," Glorfindel dropped his head back into Harry's hair with a moan and the standing elves looked very much as if they would gladly have face-palmed if it weren't so undignified. As they turned to depart, Daugion said firmly to the still-seated Istari, "When you tell that story, Glorfindel _will_ be present, agreed? It's bad enough we must relate the story of the basilisk; I will not endanger us further by making us be the ones to tell your mate more of what you consider to be simple, childhood adventures!" Harry chuckled at the retreating warriors, while Glorfindel merely nodded in fervent agreement, his face still buried in the sweet, raven tresses.

Finally, the field was clear except for the two, closely entwined mates. During the storytelling, Glorfindel had divided his concentration. While he had listened somewhat absently to the adventures his beloved told, the majority of his attention had been focused on the steady beating of that precious heart, the reassurance of his regular breathing, the warmth of his silken skin, the tangible evidence that proved to him that Marcaunon was here, in his arms, alive, safe. He needed the proof of Marcaunon's wellbeing more than he needed his own next heartbeat or breath. Sitting here, soaking in the presence of his truemate, had eased Glorfindel's almost frantic anxiety. He could think again, anyway. He could relax, a little. He could make himself let go of his mate for a short while.

He could, but he damn well wouldn't. No, Glorfindel was holding tight, and as far as he was concerned, that was a condition that would not be changing anytime soon.

He had done his best, truly. He knew Marcaunon was innocent and uncertain in regards to intimate matters. Glorfindel understood his fears and had tried to give his smaller mate the time he needed to become accustomed to Glorfindel's touch, sharing instead the pleasures to be found without the full bonding experience. But the pull of the bond had become increasingly insistent, and the long night of nightmares added to the revelations of his mate's horrific past was taking the decision to wait away from him. The time was up; he literally _could not_ delay any longer; he was certain he would lose his mind if he had to try. The appalling, undeniable reality was that Marcaunon's presence now, in his life, in his arms, was sheerest chance. If his beloved had been any less than he was, in any way, Glorfindel's arms would have remained empty and there would have been another funeral – or four – in the Wizarding World of Terra. Glorfindel would at best have only known of his truemate as a fantasy-induced dream, to dissipate with consciousness and fade from memory. The very thought clawed at his soul. Glorfindel _**needed**_ to claim his mate, he needed the man with a desperation he could not ever recall feeling in all his long years, about anyone or anything. He clung to Marcaunon's lithe form, breathing in the clean scent, calming himself as he prepared to bare his soul to the younger man.

He need not have worried.

Left alone in the field of sweet grass and wildflowers with his beautiful, troubled mate, Harry carefully turned fully in his elf's arms and lovingly met the worried, hazel gaze. Pressing a quiet kiss to the frown line between Glorfindel's golden, winged eyebrows, Harry stretched his long legs out and shifted until he was no longer kneeling in front of Glorfindel but was instead straddling Glory's lap. Seeing the gentle understanding in the brilliant eyes, Glorfindel issued a long, almost-sobbing sigh and dropped his head to rest for a moment on Harry's strong, lightly-muscled chest.

"I'm here, _aglar_. I am with you, love. I am not leaving you," Harry whispered into the soft, golden waves of his mate's hair. Glorfindel's only response was an almost-desperate tightening of strongly-muscled arms around Harry's waist.

"I'm serious, Glory," Harry stated with fervent tenderness, tilting Glorfindel's face so he could smile reassuringly into the loving eyes and sorrowful gaze. "It may take a while to be able to fully exorcise my own demons, but _this_ demon will never leave you. You'd better just accept it, husband. You are stuck with me forever."

Glorfindel's arms tightened convulsively around Harry as his head raised sharply. He peered intensely into vulnerable green eyes, heart thudding in hope. "_Husband_, melleth nin? You willingly declare me _herven_?" He held his breath as he waited, praying that Harry had truly intended the word, that he understood his meaning. Happiness and relief swept through him as shy eyes did not look away from his own as Harry spoke in a near-whisper, "Glory ….my _aglar_ _herven_… even if you did not want it, I could never in my heart be any less than your _herven_. If you do not wish a ceremony, I understand; nor will I speak of it if you do not wish it, but you are my forever-mate, Glory. You are my glorious husband. _Mi aglar herven_."

Joy exploded within Glorfindel, and his slow, brilliant smile and happy, slightly tearful eyes answered Harry perfectly. "If I did not wish it?" Glorfindel repeated incredulously. "Beloved, I would put it on our battle banner and fly it from the heights if you allowed it! 'If I did not wish it', indeed!" he scoffed.

Feeling his own worry disappear within a wave of happiness, Harry welcomed Glorfindel's fierce kiss with equal passion. Opening his mouth willingly to his husband's tender onslaught, he met Glorfindel's eager tongue with his own and engaged in a playful duel with the questing invader. Harry wrapped his arms around Glorfindel's neck, locked in an erotic dance of lips and teeth and tongues, and allowed himself to be swept along in this rising tide of need and passion.

Parting briefly for air, neither could stand even that tiny separation. Long minutes passed as they rewarded and tormented each other with kisses that were almost combat as they nipped and attacked and devoured and plundered. Glorfindel deliriously muttered words of love and devotion between oral assaults, whispering in Elvish of his joy, declaring and demanding that only he, only _Marcaunon's husband_, would ever kiss him like this, touch him this way, hold him this close, love him this much. Lost in the fog of sensation Glorfindel created, Harry vaguely heard his Glory speak what sounded like a vow in Old Elvish, the language of Glorfindel's own childhood, and knew in his soul that Glorfindel had just sealed them in a bond of truemates and husbands eternal. Although he did not know the words, Harry offered up his magic into the vow and felt that it was accepted, as their truemate bond flared and changed, somehow becoming even more than it already was.

Glorfindel responded to the moment with even greater passion and a slowly-eroding control that was almost tangible. Dropping hard, repeated kisses on Harry's willing mouth, Glorfindel slowly succumbed to the desperation to seal this bond in the oldest and most profound exchange of love. Opening begging eyes to Harry, he whispered, "Beloved, I know I said we could wait…. Aiee! Mi melleth-nin, I need you. Please, aglar, please be ready for me now!"

Flushed and breathless, Harry interrupted, placing his finger on Glory's lips. "I cannot wait, even if you could, beloved. I need you, too. So….ah!...so much!" He tossed his head back in sharp reaction as Glorfindel gripped his ass in large, strong hands and started to rise to carry his beloved mate, his new _herven_, back to their marriage bed. Scowling in emphatic denial of such a waste of time, Harry wrapped long legs tightly around Glory's waist, and apparated them directly into their bedroom.

Dinner could most certainly wait.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**THE BONDING**

They landed in the middle of their bedroom without missing a step, Glorfindel continuing to rise gracefully to his feet with his bright-eyed mate clinging to him in needy desire. He took care to ensure their silencing curtain was tightly closed, then turned the full force of his formidable attention on the raven-haired beauty in his arms. Tightening strong hands on his little mate's perfectly-rounded posterior, he lifted Marcaunon up a bit to claim his lips in a clear statement of ownership, before slowly sliding the young man down the length of his body til his booted feet touched the floor. They stood together a moment, pressed tightly to each other, Marcaunon's fists gripping Glorfindel's tunic as the golden-haired warrior held his gaze in a clear declaration of immense love and intense desire, in his eyes the forthright pledge of a dominant elf to his truemate.

'Forever,' his eyes told the young man. 'I will love you and protect you and want you – forever.'

A strong, calloused finger traced the few tears that escaped welling emerald eyes, and the tenderness of the warrior's touch tracing down his face seemed to sink beneath Marcaunon's skin and settle in his soul. Raising his own hand to wrap around Glorfindel's, emerald eyes locked with hazel in a moment of pure vulnerability. And, for the first time in his entire life, Harry willingly surrendered.

Glorfindel saw it and felt it, the moment his mate turned all control and power over to him. He was humbled at the young man's faith in him, and awed at the resilient spirit that allowed Harry to endure a life such as he had and still have the ability to trust enough to be so very vulnerable. And again, although the warrior would have said it could not have become any greater than it was, Glorfindel felt his love for Harry Potter / Marcaunon Golden Flower / Demon grow yet again. Holding his beloved's beautiful face gently in his hands, Glory pressed a slow, sensual, open-mouthed kiss upon the parted, tempting lips and poured his love, his devotion, his gratitude, his promise, and his protection into the exchange. Feeling his mate's breath catch in a gentle sob and his hands wrap tightly around his own wrists, Glorfindel knew that Harry had understood. This was more than a kiss. It was a vow.

Slowly separating, Glorfindel dropped another swift kiss onto the upturned lips before taking a small step back. With heavy-lidded eyes, he surveyed his flushed little mate, momentarily amused at Marcaunon's adamant dislike of being called 'little.' It was true, for a male of the race of man, Marcaunon was of respectable height and size, thanks to his own efforts and the goblins to whom Glorfindel felt he owed a debt of gratitude. But elves were a tall race, and Glorfindel was tall for an elf. The only people who even rivaled his own height and size were the twins; Marcaunon was easily a head shorter than the elf. Perfect for holding him close and tucking that cherished head beneath his chin, ideally suited to him in every possible way. To Glorfindel, Marcaunon would always be 'his little mate.'

Seeing his young mate standing flushed and aroused in front of him, eyes raised trustingly to meet his own while nervous hands clenched the fabric of his tunic and a shy blush deepened the ivory cheeks to light rose, Glorfindel finally allowed his desire free reign. Reaching out a steady hand, feeling the clarity that normally came to him in moments of battle sweeping his senses, the warrior let his heated hazel gaze slowly drift from his trembling mate's hair down past his clenching fists to his shifting, booted feet. Deliberately maintaining a small, open space between their bodies, he began to unfasten Marcaunon's tunic, one slow button at a time, allowing his fingers to just barely brush the skin beneath. When he reached the last button, he took hold of each side of the open shirt and deliberately parted it, baring the toned stomach and panting chest to his hungry gaze. He followed the path with lusting eyes as he ran a single, questing finger down that glorious skin from throat to navel, delighting in the shivers that accompanied its journey, before pacing a predatory circle around the trembling man. Stopping directly behind his breathless mate, he pressed his warm chest to Marcaunon's back and reached long arms around to grasp the open edges of the tunic and pull it slowly back off the muscled shoulders and down the defined, silver-scarred back, letting the fabric whisper across the sensitive skin and add its own level of sensation to the torment he was sensually inflicting upon his _**herven**_. Releasing the tunic to fall and pool at their feet, he pulled the silken hair to the side and lightly blew a torturous breath on the bared neck. Leaning down slightly, the warrior rested his chin on an ivory shoulder, delighting in the light sheen of perspiration that now misted across his mate's skin, and pressed his face into the hollow of Marcaunon's neck and shoulder to breathe lightly of the intoxicating scent and to send his own, warm breath dancing across the shivering skin. He watched in satisfaction as the dusky nipples below his gaze pebbled and darkened without yet being touched, and could feel through the bond that his delectable mate was utterly lost to the sweet seductive war Glorfindel was waging.

Moving his head slightly, Glorfindel pressed his lips to the delicate ear hiding in the raven tresses and lightly growled, a deep, rumbling vibration of desire and dominance that sent responsive shudders through his entranced mate. He placed strong, calloused hands around Marcaunon's waist, still pressed against the beautiful, bared back, and slid long fingers beneath the waistband of the leather pants. He was deeply pleased that there was no intervening fabric to stop his fingers from finding and gently combing the wiry curls that greeted him, and growled again in approval as Marcaunon whimpered. He felt the hard, hot silk of his young mate's erect cock as it twitched against the back of his hands and sought to follow his gentle movements. He smiled against Marcaunon's throat at the distressed whine when he slowly pulled his hands from beneath the leather, and purred soothingly in reassurance. As his sure hands found and began to unbuckle the silver belt, Marcaunon's breath caught and his whole body pushed back against Glorfindel in response. They pressed together, barely breathing, as Glorfindel discarded the belt and opened the leather trousers, baring Marcaunon's erection to the cooler air of the room. Torturously ignoring its needy twitching, Glorfindel passed his long, strong hands in teasing strokes across the skin near his mate's cock before running them down the firm hips and long thighs, delighting in the trembling of the strong muscles of his little mate's legs as he slowly peeled the leather pants down the long, graceful limbs. Kneeling behind Marcaunon, the warrior sensuously rubbed his face against the silky skin of muscled thighs, sending a teasing swipe of tongue into the crease where buttock met thigh, and forced his mate to balance against him as he lifted each foot in turn to remove the distinctive boots and finally, FINALLY, strip the leather pants fully from his shivering, panting beloved.

Slowly rising to his feet, Glorfindel made sure to press against his mate's body during the ascent, to once again stand pressed, fully clothed, against the back and buttocks of the beautifully naked, fully aroused Marcaunon. He again used fabric as a weapon, letting the textures of his clothing rubbing against the silken skin add its own level of sensation to the sensuous torture he was inflicting on Marcaunon. Resting his huge, aching erection against the bared buttocks, Glorfindel lightly thrust at the same moment as he placed strong hands on naked hips and pulled Marcaunon back against him. Letting his long, golden hair fall forward and slide against the goose-pimpled skin, he thrust again, closing his eyes in pleasure, and growled low in his throat in reassurance as his mate's breath caught in a near-sob of need.

Prowling around his mate again, Glorfindel stopped in front of the dazed young man and assessed his condition with deep satisfaction. Marcaunon was exquisite. His ivory skin was flushed and lightly dewed with perspiration, his muscled torso, flat abdomen and long, toned legs could have been crafted by an artist, if not for the intricate, silvery sheen of dozens of scars scattered delicately across the ivory skin. His beautiful manhood was fully engorged, hard and deeply-colored with arousal, standing out proudly from a nest of raven-dark curls. His gembright eyes were dark with desire, lids heavy and cheeks and lips flushed as he panted lightly. Long, silky black hair swirled in wild waves around his shoulders, framing his face and catching the moonlight that poured in the clerestory windows high on the wall. He was perfect. Breathtaking.

"Mine!" Glorfindel purred possessively, suddenly stepping forward to pull Marcaunon into his embrace as he walked the willing young man backward to bed. When the mattress his the back of Marcaunon's knees, Glorfindel did not stop; rather, he used his impressive strength with ease as he continued his young man's backward momentum until Marcaunon was stretched in a long, naked line upon the large bed, the aroused warrior poised above him like a conqueror. Glorfindel pulled Marcaunon's hands up to either side of the black hair, cast across the bedspread in wild disarray, and pressed his mate's hands firmly into the bed as he captured the parted, panting lips in an open-mouthed kiss so passionate that Marcaunon's hips involuntarily thrust upward, seeking the friction his mate cruelly denied him. Ending the kiss by suckling on the plump lower lip that had tormented him all day, Glorfindel rose above Marcaunon and looked at him sternly. "Do not move," the elven warrior commanded. He waited for the emerald eyes to meet his own and for his mate to nod in dazed obedience before he pulled himself off the bed and began to undress.

He took no care to draw out the process, preferring to shed his clothing and return to his nude and aroused mate as expediently as possible. Efficiently removing boots and tunic at the same time, he met Marcaunon's fascinated gaze and watched as he released the waistband of his pants and allowed them to slide to puddle at his feet. He stood tall and muscled, strong legs a pace apart, utterly comfortable in his nakedness. His long, thick cock was fully aroused, proudly displayed for his flushed young mate, twitching in response as heated viridian eyes locked upon it and a pink tongue emerged to moisten the plump lower lip that tempted Glorfindel so. Possessive hazel eyes watched that tongue and his cock twitched again insistently.

Glorfindel waited until the darkening green gaze raised to meet his own, watching his mate's eyes widen in trepidation as they took in the possessive, lustful, heated intent in the powerful warrior's face. As Marcaunon's breath stuttered and he froze in place, shuddering prey to the aroused alpha predator above him, Glorfindel bared his teeth in a smile of satisfied ownership and descended upon his mate like a great mountain cat upon a trembling meal.

He started at Marcaunon's feet. Nipping, nibbling kisses, licking and sucking, moist tongue and sharp, white teeth that teased and tormented across the long, inner arch of graceful feet, up the well-formed calves, moving the responsive limbs to his will and sending shocks of sensation up his mate's body as the backs of his knees were explored, mapping out the strong upper legs and sensitive skin of his inner thighs. The warrior ran his straight, strong nose along the silken length of Marcaunon's weeping cock, allowing his hair to brush across it and make it leap and strain, tantalizing the sensitive skin of the heavy globes nestled beneath, before he continued upwards. Holding his mate's hips down as Marcaunon strained for contact, rolling his hips desperately in a bid for friction, he allowed the now-moaning young man only the continued torture of hot breath and silken hair on his manhood as he continued to map out the beautiful body beneath him. He dipped a hot, moist tongue into the shadowed navel, enjoying the rapid clench of firm stomach muscles, and swirled his tongue across the taut abdomen and sensitive ribs. Lightly licking one tightly pebbled nipple, he brew a hot breath across the moisture and reveled in his mate's startled yelp and breathy moans as he suckled and nibbled and feasted from one nipple to the other across the heaving chest.

All the while, Glorfindel's hands were busy, fully occupied in exploring the moaning, writhing, delectable body of his truemate while he documented the tastes and scents and sounds that he would forevermore identify as _mine_. He touched Marcaunon everywhere, alternating the delicate touch of a master craftsman with the firm grip of a warrior, never letting his mate settle, never letting a touch become familiar before it changed and morphed and transformed into another, and another, and another. He was ruthlessly employing millennia of sensual experience toward a single goal: the complete, overwhelming seduction of one Istari warrior. His _herven_.

Finally reaching Marcaunon's mouth, from which panting breaths and shocked whimpers and moans emerged amidst sweet whispers of "Glory! Please! My husband, _please!_", Glorfindel descended upon the lips of his mate like a thirsting elf in need of quenching. He seized that delicious cavern with his own, fierce kiss, ruthlessly forcing the tender lips wide and plundering the tender interior with devastating skill. Marcaunon's hands were now clenched in his long, golden hair, pulling tightly against the overwhelming attack on his body, and Glorfindel loved it. He felt Marcaunon's long leg wrap around his own and allowed his mate to pull him down upon him with leg and arms and tempting, teasing mouth. Both males moaned in appreciation as the warrior settled his nude, muscular form upon the smaller man, and long minutes were spent lost in the joy of skin on skin, caressing hands and deep, passionate kisses.

Reaching a long arm out unerringly to snag the small jar and towel he had placed on the sidetable that morning, he congratulated himself on that bit of forethought and began once more to slide down Marcaunon's addictive form. Glorfindel journeyed back the way he had begun, descending down his mate's form with nibbling, nipping kisses until he swirled a skilled tongue into the shadowed navel and settled between the twisting, toned thighs. He raised heavy-lidded eyes to Marcaunon's wide-eyed gaze, amused to see that the young man was resting on his bent arms as he watched his golden warrior. Keeping his intent focus upon his desperately aroused but blushingly shy mate, he lowered his face slightly and dropped a gentle kiss upon the butter-soft tip of Marcaunon's cock. It twitched in immediate response and Marcaunon's mouth opened in panting hope. Watching his little mate watch him, Glorfindel finally opened his mouth fully and slowly, tantalizingly slowly, took the heavy cock into his mouth. Marcaunon's helpless, quavering, breathy "Glooorrrryyy..!" went straight to his own cock, and he pushed his hips into the mattress beneath as he concentrated on pleasing his mate. Holding the lean hips down upon the bed with one hand, Glorfindel swirled his tongue around the length of silken flesh in his mouth, bobbing his head, alternately sucking and licking his mate's manhood while cupping and caressing the heavy sac and listening to Marcaunon's desperate whispers and moans. Feeling the round balls begin to tighten and draw up against Marcaunon's body, he firmly tugged them back down and smiled devilishly at his mate's indignant yelp. Releasing the saliva-slick cock from his mouth with a vulgar pop, he smirked up at the scowling emerald eyes, wanting to laugh but restraining himself, and told Marcaunon, "You will not cum until I am deep within you and am cumming, as well - not a moment sooner. Understand?" He stroked the hard length in his hand for emphasis, adding an almost brutal twist near the end of the movement that caused Marcaunon's elbows to unlock and drop him back upon the bed at the added surge of pleasure his mate literally forced out of him. Blinking emerald eyes dazedly at the ceiling, he realized from the sudden, deliberate stillness of that wonderful hand and mouth that Glorfindel was waiting for his answer. Trying to look irritated but sure he only managed to look desperately aroused, he jerkily nodded his head in agreement and then could not help but plead, "Glory, don't stop! Please!"

The heat in his mate's eyes nearly sent him over the edge as the Elven Warrior growled, "Beloved, I wouldn't stop if Sauron himself were at the door." With that, the wicked mouth descended again upon his needy cock and Marcaunon surrendered to the insanely-skilled abilities of his glorious warrior.

Knocking the lid off the ceramic jar, Glorfindel dipped two long fingers into the lightly-scented oil and brought them between his mate's straining thighs. Slowly releasing the hot, wet cock from his mouth, the warrior pointed his tongue and delicately dipped it into the weeping slit at the tip just as he allowed one circling finger to penetrate the twitching, sensitive rosebud between his mate's clenching buttocks. The distraction worked, and his long finger slid into the tight heat of Marcaunon's body with relative ease, blessed in its passage by the reassurance of the bond humming between them. Finger carefully twisting and turning within Marcaunon's body as Glorfindel licked and sucked the straining cock, the warrior had to close his eyes and exert fierce self-control when his raven-haired beauty begged him to hurry. By Mandos, hearing his mate urge Glorfindel to take him _NOW_ in a breathless voice husky with uncontrolled desire was enough to make the warrior cum unassisted! Resisting the siren's call of his mate's pleading voice, Glorfindel took his time adding a second finger, and then the third, carefully stretching the tight passage in preparation for a much larger invasion. He considered adding a fourth finger, knowing that his own, fully-aroused cock was, like Glorfindel, far larger than the average elf, but the desperation in his mate's voice and the spasmodic clenching of his ass around his fingers when they lightly brushed the sensitive bundle of nerves within his mate was too much for even Glorfindel to resist. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his fingers from his mate's body and quickly slicked up his own cock before wiped his hand on the towel. Releasing the frantically-weeping cock from his mouth, Glorfindel rose up over his mate as though he were the avenging angel of the two. Marcaunon was so far gone in his need of his powerful mate that he nearly wept in relief as Glorfindel loomed above him, reaching desperate arms up to the blond warrior and spreading his legs wantonly, uncaring of his dignity.

Capturing the heated, green fire of his _herven_'s gaze, he dropped a strong, wet, open-mouthed kiss upon the beloved lips, a kiss eagerly returned in kind by a moaning, panting Marcaunon. Glorfindel positioned himself at his mate's prepared core, and raised both of Marcaunon's legs up to rest on his strong forearms. It took every bit of his formidable self-control to press his straining, engorged cock carefully into the delicious rosebud of his mate's core, but Glorfindel was rewarded when Marcaunon's body received him as if it, too, knew they belonged together. He closed his eyes in bliss as he sank into the incredibly tight, wondrously hot depths of his beloved's perfect body, feeling his heavy balls resting blissfully against his mate's buttocks, pausing a moment to allow Marcaunon to accept his invasion. It was not long before Marcaunon desperately urged, "_Move! Oh, goddess, Glory, please move!"_ Opening his eyes and looking down into the glazed gaze, he hissed when Marcaunon rolled his hips desperately against him, driving his cock even deeper into that perfect ass, and then obeyed his little lover with a will. Glorfindel _moved_.

Marcaunon threw his head back and nearly screamed as his fierce, powerful, glorious mate pounded into him, hitting his prostate every time he thrust with devastating accuracy. As his balls once again began to tighten and draw up, he was enraged when Glorfindel clamped a tight hand around the base of his penis and refused to let him cum. The need was building, coiling within him, the pleasure mounting and trebling and spiking and that son-of-a-bitch he was mated to kept his fingers tight around his cock and refused him release! Marcaunon sobbed in ecstatic despair as Glorfindel pounded his prostate with the silk-wrapped length of steel the warrior claimed was his penis, but it _couldn't_ be, because if it were he would have _cum_ already and he, Harry, wouldn't still be spiraling upward into an impossibly high peak of pleasure that kept spiking and climbing.

Glorfindel held tightly to his mate's cock, denying him the orgasm his young mate desperately wanted. He would have laughed, had he the breath, at the furious green glare as it conflicted with the endless stream of pleas and endearments flowing from the perfect mouth. Glorfindel was not new to the bedroom arts; several thousands of years of practice probably qualified him as lethal even here. But he was not trying to kill his little mate, no matter what the young man seemed to think at the moment. He knew what he was doing. This first time together would further cement the truemate bond, and he would not have it be anything less than as powerful and intense and soul-changing as their love itself. Rolling his hips expertly to change his angle of entry just slightly, he managed to still hit his mate's prostate – hard – but at a slightly different angle, refusing to let his mate even get a chance to adapt to the mind-bending spikes of pleasure without ensuring they varied in potency and effect. Tears of ecstacy began to roll down Marcaunon's face, and Glorfindel leaned forward to run a long, loving tongue down the sweaty cheek to taste the sweet tears. He could feel through the bond what his little mate felt; he knew that Marcaunon was not weeping in pain or fear. He felt as his mate did; that together they were driving toward nirvana, one powerful thrust at a time.

Releasing his tight grip on the base of Marcaunon's cock and sitting back on his heels, Glory pulled Marcaunon up into his lap, forcing the young man to straddle him and leaning him back to semi-recline as Glorfindel supported him with impossibly strong arms. The added tension of the posture, their quivering muscles, the sweat pouring from their bodies, and the relentless pounding of Glorfindel's cock as he drove into Marcaunon's ass finally, FINALLY, pushed them both over the dangerously high peak they had climbed together. In time with each other, the ecstasy coiled tighter and tighter, before snapping under the pressure and recoiling violently through their straining bodies. As ecstasy slammed into him, Glorfindel pulled his mate tightly into his arms, pushing him down onto his cock as they clung together. Nearly blacking out at the intensity of his explosive release, Glorfindel's hips spasmed in time with the long, powerful pulses of his agonizing climax deep within his mate's responsive body. Even then, lost in the mindless moments of nearly unendurable pleasure, he protected his mate, holding the young man close as he screamed out his ecstasy to the havens. Welcoming the long, hot ropes of white pleasure that pulsed between their bodies from Marcaunon's now violently-sensitive cock, Glorfindel shuddered along with his mate and held him close as they endured the remaining, shuddering spasms of their joining.

As their bodies finally began to calm from the violence of the storm they had created, Marcaunon collapsed against his mate's chest and wept. The bond between them nearly glowed with vitality, and the young man in his arms was simply overwhelmed by the strength of their love and the power of their bond. Glorfindel's muscles quivered, but he held his young _herven_ close and comforted him with soothing circles on his back by hands that would never be less than strong enough for his beloved. Carefully wiping away the spent seed of his beloved, he tossed the towel to the floor and pressed a gentle kiss upon the swollen lips, tenderly capturing the small sob that emerged from his mate. Surrendering to the fast-encroaching exhaustion, Glorfindel gently pulled Marcaunon down with him, to lie wrapped in his arms, tousled head resting on his chest, whispering promises and endearments to his love and listening to the sobbing breaths slow and even out as sleep descended. Just as his heavy eyelids finally closed for the night, Glorfindel heard Marcaunon whisper, "I love you, Glory." He thought he managed to mumble a reply as he drifted off to sleep.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**THE DEVIL SANDWICH**

Glorfindel had departed before Legolas had finished asking for the story of how the Demon Team became winged. The Mirkwood Prince understood completely; the Balrog-slayer needed to be with his mate, needed to assure himself that his mate was here and safe and whole. Legolas felt the same need regarding his own mates who, while enduring their own hellish past, when compared to Marcaunon had led wonderful lives. It didn't matter what degree of Hell it had been; each of these remarkable people had led lives of horror and despair, and somehow emerged strong and wonderful and absolutely _beautiful_.

He did not need to consult the delicate bond that had begun to hum between the three mates for Legolas to know that his Devils were in pain. Dredging up the past had been excruciating for them, and seeing his smiling mates rendered grimfaced and silent made the blond archer want to personally help kill those who had created this pain. As that was not possible – for the moment – he chose to use distraction to help bring his Devils back to themselves and their present happiness. Mentally reviewing the past hour, he focused on a moment when the mood of the Devils and Angel had seemed to lighten momentarily.

Tilting his head to the side curiously, unaware that the twins immediately decided that he was adorable like that, Legolas looked from Fred to George and asked, "What did you mean when you three spoke of how hard Harry - er, Marcaunon – trained? You seemed amused."

George smirked as he pulled their little one's feet into his lap, removing the low boots to begin caressing and rubbing the slender bones and soft skin. He watched with a grin as Legolas tried not to moan in pleasure. "You can call him Harry, beloved. Our original names are for family. Use them if you prefer, or not. As to your question, Harry was a slave driver. He was completely ruthless. When we finally got a spell mastered, he would congratulate us, and then say 'Now, do it another 100 times so that it becomes a reflex and so we can recognize that spell from another."

"Not only that, but we also learned every shield and counter to the one spell, so that we could practice casting it at each other and learning to block and dodge faster. We learned more about every single spell than most of our fellow students learned in total about all of the spells. I'm just thankful he had us learning martial arts long before we actually had to do any serious dueling," Fred added ruefully, toying with their mate's hair. He loved running the long strands through his fingers, it felt like cool silk and shone like moonlight in his hands.

Legolas furrowed his brow, another look that the twins decided was adorable on their little mate. "Why? What does one have to do with the other?" He thought for a moment, then ventured, "Possibly speed? Reflexes?" He felt a burst of pride at the looks of approval on his mates' faces, and resisted the urge to preen a little. It was hard, though; he had precious few memories of someone else being proud of his intellect.

"Exactly so. Because the martial arts training gave us the extra 'oomph' to dodge," George replied, tickling the feet in his lap. He gripped the kicking ankle firmly and gently soothed the twitching foot. Exchanging a glance with Fred, he knew they had both filed away for later exploration the fact that their little mate had very sensitive feet.

Legolas was quiet for a few moments, reflecting on what the twins' past had been like. "Did you celebrate any special days together, after you became a family? Naming days, perhaps?" he asked, remembering the small happy celebrations when he was younger and still allowed to be just Legolas.

Large, reminiscent smiles appeared on the strongly handsome faces. "Oh, yes. Demon made sure that our birthdays were huge celebrations. For a young man raised without a family, he's incredibly good at taking care of one. He had the whole manor decorated festively and all of our favorite foods were prepared - and the amount of gifts he gave us was amazing! Of course, most were practical gifts, like our ceremonial axes and our cloaks, dress robes…!" George chuckled fondly, lightly caressing the fine-boned ankles beneath his hands. He liked to pet Legolas, and Legolas liked to be petted. He'd be willing to bet if Legolas had an animagus form, he would definitely be a cat. He could almost hear their little elf purring under the attention.

Following his twin's thoughts with ease, Fred grinned as he ran caressing hands through the moonlight hair and continued to reminisce. "Harry does wonderful birthday presents. That's when we'd get our best prank material, rare potion ingredients, books, rare candies…. He was even able to sneak Siri and Remy over for the celebrations. We had an early birthday party for him, too, in June. We sort of figured that one or both of the old bastards would sabotage his birthday. Hmmm, I think that was one of the few days we had together before the war ended."

"Not just parties, though. Harry cares for family like no one else ever could or would. Until we met Harry, we were probably the only two people who ever saw the other as individuals, but who also really understood our bond as twins. We weren't just two more freckled redheads. After he tore our old family a new asshole – which they needed, considering the amount of crap they utter - he took us shopping. We had left the Weasley home with nothing. At first, we tried to get second-hand stuff, go on the cheap, you know? So, he just started vanishing all the cheap stuff we picked and throwing in the most expensive items he could find, just to make a point that we were actually worth it. He wouldn't stop until we had gotten anything and everything we really wanted, and a lot of things we had never even thought about but turns out we needed. For the first time, we had new clothes that fit us in body and personalities. He did the same for Luna as well." George shook his head in awe, having to swallow hard against the memory of how it felt to suddenly have so much value to someone other than his twin.

Legolas missed nothing as he watched and noted every little nuance his mates showed. "I don't understand. What did you mean? Your brother showed you more familial love?" Legolas asked. He was bothered by this. Even though his mates had been disowned, it sounded like their childhoods before that event had not been happy either. And he still didn't understand how it wasn't obvious to everyone that there was George, rubbing his feet, and this was clearly Fred, petting his hair. They were so different, his Eredhion and Sidhenidon, but they were the Devils, too, utterly together. How was that complicated? He huffed in frustration and focused back on his mates.

George's jaw was clenched, and he didn't answer, so Fred explained softly, "We were from a large family, one that was not well-off and had very little regard in the community. We had three older brothers and two younger siblings. Our parents praised the older ones for their perfect schooling, successful careers, and such. Our younger ex-siblings were needy children, with Ron whining until he got praise and attention he hadn't earned, and Ginny… well, she was the only girl, and the littlest kid as well. Spoiled rotten; pretty much praised for breathing. But Georgie and I – not so much. Just the twins; flip sides of the same coin, nothing special, mostly a bother. We always had a good sense of humor; it helped us to deal with everything. So once George and I were old enough to understand that we could only rely on each other, we began to distance ourselves from our family. And they let us. Not actually sure they even noticed. While we weren't neglected like Harry, none of them had time for us. The oldest got new things because they were first, or best, or whatever. The youngest got new things because they whined the loudest, or were the precious baby girl… or whatever. But us – nah. We got hand-me-downs from our older brother's hand-me-downs. Leftover stuff for the leftover kids. Our siblings were praised for their accidental magic; it showed they were powerful and talented. When we had accidental magic, it was because we were undisciplined and causing trouble. We were blamed for the things that our younger siblings did wrong, intentionally or accidentally. Like dishes exploding and such. So, we retaliated by pranking. If we were going to get scolded for something, it might as well be our own work," Fred ended with a smirk. It conflicted strongly with the pain in his eyes. Legolas felt his heart clench; this was so wrong! How could his wonderful, utterly original mates have been so overlooked? How was that even possible? How blind did a person have to be to miss them?

George smiled gently at the dark thoughts evident on their little elf's expressive face. The Weasleys were all in the past; their lives now were filled with love and pride. Lifting a slender foot to begin a soothing massage against the delicate arch, he smirked at Legolas' appreciative moan and continued the history lesson. "So, when Harry made us officially his family – actually, even before that! - he praised us. He didn't offer empty compliments, but he really understood and appreciated our new ideas for pranks, he encouraged us in our studies, made sure we had not just what we needed but what he felt we deserved, what would make us happy. He actually cared that we were happy! He hugged us and whispered encouragement whenever things became too hard. He pushed us to do our best, but knew when we needed a break and made sure we took care of ourselves and each other. In some ways, Harry was more like an older brother – maybe even a father to us -than he was our younger brother. He's gone through so much that he can't help but be mature and have this – I don't know, this presence, I guess. For Luna-girl, he definitely** was** an older brother or father, while we were just her older brothers," George explained, moving away from the tempting ankles and now rubbing Legolas's legs. The elf was nearly boneless with relaxation, but remained focused on learning about his mates.

Relaxing into the petting of his hair and massaging of his legs, Legolas thought for a moment. It sounded a lot like how he felt when Gimli befriended him, melting his well-trained icy defenses with the simple warmth and concern and acceptance the paternal dwarf offered unhesitatingly. Smiling softly, he tilted his head as something occurred to him. "You went to that school, filled with students and teachers. It sounded like it was quite large. I understand that Harry had a horrible situation, but what of you? You had no teachers or mentors on your side at all? Besides those that you had contracted through the goblins, I mean."

Fred and George paused for bit, thinking back before George finally thought of one, "Well, there was Professor Sprout. She was pretty great, actually. She was always letting things slide whenever we did something prankish, so long as our work was done and no one was hurt. Well, no one who didn't deserve to be hurt, that is," he corrected darkly. "And she was the only one I remember who gave detentions and took points from people who gossiped and mocked us, especially after we were disowned." Chuckling at the demanding wiggle of the slim feet in his lap, he resumed his massage, smiling as his elf once again melted against them.

Fred tipped Legolas head back to smile down into the soft blue eyes that looked up at him inquiringly, before dropping a kiss between the finely-shaped eyebrows and resuming his compulsive petting of their elf's addictive hair. "Too bad she didn't have more power at the school; she was one of our favorite teachers. She would always smile and laugh at our pranks. She even sent hints our way for pranks…"

"Yeah she would say something like, 'not that I would think of such a thing, but if I were a prankster, I'd want to know that devil's snare when dried is great for providing an extra oomph in certain potions.' She'd never be looking at us when she did that, always sort of talking to the air in our general vicinity." George laughed fondly as he remembered the vigorous, plump woman.

"I wonder how she is doing…" The twins trailed off together, lost in memories as they continued to pet and pamper their purring elf.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**WHERE WOULD I BE WITHOUT LUNA?**

Haldir rested his back against the headboard of their bed, his luminous Angel resting peacefully in his arms, her beautiful hair spread across his naked chest in a pale curtain of softest silk. He adored this woman, so new to his life, but fitting within his very soul as if born there. His arms tightened around her, calloused hands caressing the silken skin of her back and hip, as he reflected upon the day and watched his minx sleep.

He felt exhausted, worn out from the highs and lows of a very long, emotional day. From the morning filled with satisfying the aggravating, incredulous questions of the warriors regarding the Lost Tribe, through the feast at Helm's Deep and all that it entailed, to the shocking moment when his mate and her family suddenly sprouted _wings_ and launched them into the sky – and wasn't that a hilarious surprise for them to spring on Haldir and Glorfindel, who had thought they were fully apprised of the plans for the day!-, through fending off his amorous mate in the air and then taking her – repeatedly – once on the ground, only to join his family in the central gathering room for a history lesson so painful he was still shaken by it … ! Valar, he was grateful this day was over, and that his precious, priceless mate lay safely in his arms.

Haldir felt sleep trying to take him, and he fought it back stubbornly. He wanted to remain awake, to guard and protect his Angel and hold her close all through the night. He had a deep fear, irrational though it may be, that he would awake to find it had all been a wonderful dream. Even the thought opened a wound within his heart. Watching Luna sleep off the maelstrom of emotions she had undergone earlier, the Marchwarden of Lothlorien felt desperately vulnerable to the vagaries of fate. It was not lost on him that, had Marcaunon been any less the incredible person he was, he would not have the happiness he had now. His Angel would not be here, none of them would be here. For all he knew, rather than being pulled from battle by his mate and dropped within the protective circle of the newly-arrived Demon Team, he could have simply died on the battlefield at Helm's Deep, slain by some unknown uruk-hai or orc, never to know his beautiful Angel or her remarkable family.

Had Marcaunon been any less, Middle Earth may well have continued its death march into the darkness that is Sauron. But the Demon Team was here, and the Lost Tribe was returning, and Haldir did not even feel he was tempting fate by believing that somehow, everything was going to be all right.

But he still refused to sleep. Tracing a gentle hand over the delicate features of the astonishing woman in his arms, Haldir sent a brief prayer of gratitude to the Valar for bringing her and her family to Arda. Again, it all comes back to Marcaunon. A sneer marred the handsome face as Haldir recalled the details about Luna's own father, and the torments of her school years before Demon. Well, before Harry Potter, he supposed. Thank the Valar, again, for Glorfindel's new mate. He wondered briefly if his beloved would have still turned out as beautiful and playful, serene and deadly, without the man who first called her sister, before his throat clenched in borrowed sorrow and he abruptly abandoned that line of thought, not wishing to think of his life without his mate.

Brushing his hand against her soft cheek, Haldir's eyes slowly closed and his breathing deepened and evened out as he slowly relaxed into sleep – but his arms remained firmly wrapped around the slender figure resting against his chest.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**MOONLIGHT MEETING**

As the moon rose and the camp slept, except for the few guards posted well away into the trees, four shadowy figures moved silently over the ground til they reached a moonlit meadow redolent with the dewy aroma of tall grass and wildflowers.

The moon watched as a Demon raised his sword confidently, watching the shadows and assessing his opponents. Several paces away, an Angel waited serenely, twin short swords resting tip first in the soft earth. Elsewhere, a pair of smirking Devils swung their axes from long, muscled arms in a practiced battle warm-up.

For a moment, nature itself seemed to hold its breath as the four paused, before time flowed back into normal progression as the four figures moved as one. The weapons met in a four-way clash with a single sound, perfectly timed, and with that they swung into a graceful battle that was as well called a dance. It was fierce, physical, graceful, violent. It was beautifully choreographed and wildly impulsive. Weapons rang as they clashed, whistling through the air with practiced speed and strength. The warriors held nothing back, except their magic. This was not about the magic. It was about the dance.

Fully focused in the vigorous exchange of muscle and metal and skill, they did not notice the small audience that gathered and watched. One by one, Glorfindel, Legolas, and Haldir had awoken to empty arms and beds and come a-hunting their mates. Gimli followed silently, always ready to lend his aid to friends and family. The closest guard heard the ring of metal and came to investigate, as did Daugion, who was the warden on call this night and had been seated by the fire. Slowly, the privileged few gathered to watch an extraordinary demonstration of the battle skills of the Demon Team.

It was an otherworldly dance, with deadly weapons.

They stood in awe as Angel gracefully twirled away from a swinging axe to block a vicious chop from Demon, who in turn ducked a swipe from a lethal axe from the Devils. They watched the Devils skillfully side step each other's blow while stopping attacks from the Demon and Angel. They worked together, and individually, and in pairs, and in every combination imaginable. No words or signals were given, that any of the observers could detect. The four were in such harmony that the sounds of their weapons and the gentle breeze through the grasses with the crickets for accompaniment created a song that only these few were privileged to hear.

Gimli watched the devilish axe-warriors with shining eyes. This was poetry, made lethal.

As the fight came to a graceful end, the audience all smiled in awed appreciation as each of the four held another in a death point, none to survive, none to die this day. With familiar ease, the weapons were withdrawn and placed on the ground. Moving as one, again, each of the four moved forward and closed the circle to embrace and comfort each other.

None of those watching missed the fact that Demon seemed to be the primary comforter of the group, calling forth his magnificent wings to wrap around his family protectively as the Devils each dropped their heads onto one of his shoulders and wrapped an arm around his waist and one around Luna, who stood with her own arms around Demon's neck. They watched as Demon wrapped strong arms around the Devil's shoulders and placed his own head lovingly atop Luna's fair hair, sheltering and comforting his family. There were no dry eyes as the raven-haired young man whose own life dictated he should not have been able to love, whispered soothingly to his siblings – possibly his children? – and dropped a tender kiss upon each bowed head. The beautiful black feathers rippled in the midnight breeze.

So poignant, and achingly beautiful.

A few moments later, they slowly separated to sit together in the long grass, talking about the past couple of days. Reconnecting with each other since finding their mates and dealing with the stress of sprouting wings, travelling, battle once more and their shared past.

Daugion and the night guard thoughtfully returned to their positions while Gimli and the trio of mates quietly left the meadow, leaving the siblings to care for each other, knowing they needed this time. The four males shared a look of unspoken agreement, conveying wordlessly that what they had seen would remain private and cherished. They separated and returned to their separate rooms, Gimli to settle into sleep while the others patiently awaited their mate's return.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**MARAUDERS' HONOR**

"Damn it, Remy! They've only been gone for a few days and already this world holds no appeal to us. Without our kids, I really don't want to be here," Sirius Black growled, while Hedwig hooted and hissed in angry agreement. The snowy owl was staring at a wizarding photo of Harry and his siblings.

"I know, Siri, but if we are going to follow, we need to make sure that everything is taken care of. And yes, I agree, we are going to follow. Plus, I think Hedwig is just as annoyed as you are. If she doesn't stop glaring at Harry's painting, it might combust," Remus teased the two tiredly. He wanted his pack back. He missed their children. He and Sirius were actually more brothers than just long-time friends, but they shared the same type of bond as Harry, Luna, Fred and George.

The pain had been bad when Harry forced them into hiding, but the moment they had actually left this world for the other, both Sirius and Remus had been in torment. Hedwig, too, was in emotional pain, feeling the bond of a Familiar stretched unbearably thin. They had made plans to get themselves into Middle Earth, working feverishly with Harry and the kids in the week before they departed, but both had awakened this morning with the overwhelming sense that something had changed. Something big.

Now the urgency to follow their kids into Middle Earth was overwhelming. Their tasks here were nearly done. And although neither had discussed it, Remus suspected that both of them were also experiencing this strange sense of anticipation, as if they were young again and Yule was coming.

Hedwig puffed out her feathers indignantly at Remus's teasing, clearly relaying the message of 'I would never!' before punishing him by eating Remus's food.

Sirius laughed at Remus's look of abused resignation, before taking a sip of his tea and leaning back into his chair, hoping that his pups were alright, and wondering why he had this shivery feeling of excitement that just would not go away.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**AN IDEA SPROUTS**

Professor Pomona Sprout was attending to her plants, lost in the meditative state that allowed her to do her best thinking.

She was mostly thinking of the Demon Team, wondering if they were alright, hoping that they weren't injured and that they were finally living their lives. If only she knew where they were, she would have gone over and seen for herself, but if there was one thing she knew about Harry Potter it was that if he didn't want them to be found, then no one would find them. Hedwig could have found him, but she was no longer in the owlery. No one noticed when she left, or knew where she had gone.

Her busy hands paused a moment as a thought occurred to her. Wherever he was, Harry would still need money. Maybe the Goblins could pass a message for her. Nodding decisively, Pomona cleaned up her workspace and briskly walked to her rooms, where she began composing a letter for her favorite students. She only wished her own prodigy apprentice had been able to be part of that group. The poor boy would have been so much better off supported by the strength and protection of the Demon Team than subjected to the useless people assigned to befriend him. Her apprentice had never wanted to be part of that evil man's manipulations; he was happiest hiding in her classroom or the greenhouses, working with plants. Then those little backstabbers tried to sink their claws into him. Even though Harry and her student weren't friends, the boy had definitely looked up to and admired Harry Potter. Pomona believed that Harry would have accepted the boy into his heart, perhaps even his family, if only he had overcome his crippling shyness and gained the courage to actually talk to the lad. Maybe things could have been different. They could have been better.

She looked thoughtfully at the letter she was composing and raised wondering eyes to gaze out her window. 'Maybe,' she thought, 'they still can.'


	8. Chap 8 Off to the Woods correct vers

**A/N: Okay, kids. First, if anyone got caught in my 5-minute posting and recall at 5:30amCST, roops! Posted the wrong one and panicked.**

**Now, Mea Culpa for the delay in getting this chapter out. My eleven year old has both bronchitis and influenza and has missed eleven days of school so far. Pikachumomma has been involved with seminars and airplanes, neither of which is especially good for lurid fanfiction, either. Still, the delay is my fault. I was going to consider posting just half, but I decided I won't do that. This story will be taken through to its fruition, and side stories will sprout from it, too, and you and it deserve our best. Besides, I promised myself that if I started a story, I would be like Pikachumomma and slayer of destiny, the kind of writer that doesn't torture her readers with delays going into months, half-assed updates without a damn fine reason or abandonment. Not gonna happen, folks. Just… if it takes ten days instead of week, assume illness somewhere in the mix and have faith that it will be posted sooner rather than later.**

**I'm giving a shoutout to Marksmom, slayer of destiny, and, of course, Pikachumomma. And once again, thank you, all of you who read, all who review, and especially all who tell me they have found joy in another fandom because of this story. Blessed Be.**

**- WyrdSmith**

**oooooooooooooooooooo**

**LEGOLAS' FIRST NIGHT**

Glorfindel blinked blearily as he slowly returned to consciousness. Frowning, he realized that he had fallen back asleep while waiting for Marcaunon to return to their bed. He looked at the bed in question, and realized that he had remained alone for the remainder of the night. Had his mate and his siblings talked all the night through? As he rose from the bed and donned his clothing, he shook his head slightly. Glorfindel was far too secure with the bond fully alive between Marcaunon and himself to feel any hurt at his vacant bed. He was certain that Haldir would feel the same, as it was more than clear that he and Ithilwen had enthusiastically and repeatedly taken all the required steps to establish their own mating bond within an hour of first arriving at this camp. No, his concern was for gentle Legolas, who had essentially spent the majority of his first night here alone, rather than ensconced between his mates. Even if the three had already fully bonded, which Glorfindel was certain had not happened yet, to leave the younger elf alone his first night here was a poor choice on the part of the twins, regardless of their need to reconnect with Marcaunon and Ithilwen. Forcing down his automatic protective anger on behalf of a younger elf, Glorfindel reminded himself that Eredhion and Sidhenidon, despite their power and remarkable maturity, were nevertheless a mere twenty-one years old. They were young still, and had made a mistake – one that was sure to hurt their new mate's feelings and his confidence. Heaving a worried sigh, the blond elf contemplated whether to talk to them himself or to bring in Haldir or perhaps Gimli.

Pulling the curtain back to enter the hallway, Glorfindel just caught sight of Gimli disappearing into the twins' room. Nodding in acknowledgment, Glorfindel resolved to leave the matter up to the paternal dwarf who had adopted Legolas in all the ways that matter. He was certain the dwarf would handle the issue well. Entering the central room, he looked in bewilderment at how crowded it was. Dozens upon dozens of his warriors occupied the space, holding various items that would be better suited to the outdoor work of the encampment. Looking more closely, he gained the distinct impression that most of the elves in this room had fled into it mid-task. What in the havens…? About to ask for an explanation, he halted abruptly as several of his people merely pointed at the main exit, expressions of mixed amusement and annoyance on their faces. Now that he was away from the silencing curtain, the elven warrior could hear the laughter of his new family outdoors. Shaking his head, he left the tent and took a moment to absorb the scene that greeted him.

On the far side of the clearing, a long table stood laden with food and drink. Marcaunon, Eredhion, Sidhenidon and Ithilwen were racing around the area, ducking behind the table and various startled elves to avoid being hit by the strips of pink light they sent streaking at each other. Glorfindel snorted as a hapless Taorin suddenly found himself serving as shelter for a wildly giggling Angel, only to be himself hit by a pink light ruthlessly sent at him by a demonically-cackling Marcaunon. The normally stoic elf collapsed to the ground in helpless, high-pitched giggles as his body was subjected to a high-powered tickling charm. With Taorin out of the picture, the three siblings were free to attack Ithilwen at will; however, the luminous young woman gracefully leaped and rolled out of the way until she was once again safely shielded behind a horrified Daugion. Forced to choose between a public loss of propriety such as Taorin was now enduring or protecting the lovely healer, the elf immediately abandoned chivalry and leaped aside.

Hearing a snort next to him, Glorfindel turned slightly to see Haldir standing at his side, a reluctant grin on his face as they watched one of the Marchwarden's best warriors abandon Haldir's mate to her fate without a second glance. With a meaningful look at the still giggling Taorin, Haldir muttered, "I'll give Daugion hell about it, but in truth I would have done the same." Nodding wryly, the mated warriors stood side by side and watched the odd battle.

At some point during the next few moments, Ithilwen ducked and rolled past the tortured Taorin, lightly tapping him with two fingers as she continued on her way. As the tickling charm abruptly dissipated, the exhausted warrior flopped to his back and weakly brought both hands over his face, moaning, "Will there be even one day in the presence of these four when I am not publicly humiliated?" He heard sympathetic laughter echo musically from various hiding spots around the encampment, but none of the warriors would break cover to commiserate openly with the beleaguered elf until this battle had ended.

The attention of the audience was caught by the panicked cry of one of the twins, who yelled, "Shit! Where's Demon? Where did he go? Anyone see him? Anyone? Shit!" The other twin immediately ducked into a defensive crouch and bellowed, "Evasive maneuvers!"

Suddenly, the watching warriors saw the true purpose behind the lighthearted game. Or rather, they saw what was undoubtedly the original purpose. This was a training game, one of the many the four had engaged in back on Terra as they prepared to wage war on the opposing forces. They watched, awed, as the three turned before their eyes into the Devils and Angel. If they had not been closely focused on the three Istari, none of the elves would have seen as Angel slipped backward into the tall grass without a ripple to indicate her presence. One after the other, the Devils faded silently into the shadows of the trees. Even with superior senses, none of the elves could detect any of the four at all; they had literally faded from sight and sound while in full view of their audience. They had not used magic; elves could see the colors of magic when it was cast. No, these four had simply vanished, using an extraordinary set of skills in covert maneuvers.

The camp became silent and still, heavy with the effort of numerous warriors straining their senses to detect even one of the four. Moments passed, and still they waited. It was, as the Devils would have said, "creepy!

Suddenly, roughly twenty feet away from where they had first disappeared, the masculine, muscular Devils plummeted side by side from the trees to the clearing below, giggling like little girls in a tickle fight. Haldir's eyebrows rose in delight as they then heard his luminous, delicate, deadly Ithilwen guffawing like a rough-raised farmwife, and he could not restrain his own laughter as his beautiful mate crawled gracelessly from the tall grasses to collapse beside the helplessly giggling twins. Glorfindel grinned proudly at Haldir's muttered, "It would seem your mate has won this round." He had never been in doubt. The two watched in amusement as the twins and their sister cancelled the charms upon each other, leaning weakly upon each other for a few moments as they regained control of their muscles. Once again, Haldir snorted in laughter at Ithilwen's rowdy, "Oh, Merlin, I nearly pissed myself!"

The redhaired Eredhion nodded emphatically as Sidhenidon remarked, "That boy has way too much power…. Wonder if we can just have him do that to the Uruk-hai?" The look on Glorfindel's face was pained as he envisioned a troop of the hideous creatures lost to a fit of giggles. Haldir shook his head reflexively in sharp rejection of the wrongness of that image.

The three on the ground looked resignedly at each other for a moment before Eredhion called out, "Fine! Demon, you win! You can come out now!" They glanced cautiously around the trees and grass, trying to spot their brother. It was hopeless.

"Damn it! Since he gained the last Element, he's been damn near impossible to find," George growled, reluctantly hauling himself to his feet to stand searching the foliage.

"He was already impossible to find, dear brothers. Acquiring the elements merely enhanced the experience," Luna replied laughingly, placing a palm flat upon a nearby tree as she tried to locate Harry. While in her years of training, she had gained the elements of water and air, but she had always had an affinity with nature in general. She could not command Earth, but she could enjoy a friendly chat with it.

"Luna-girl, what do the wrackspurts say?" one of the Devils asked. Haldir was fairly certain it was Sidhenidon. The Marchwarden had a sudden wish that Legolas had been out here watching the entertainment. He felt uneasy at the young elf's absence. Come to that, where was Gimli?

"The wrackspurts merely confirm that he is confusing their senses and ours," Luna replied airily. The three exchanged wry, meaningful glances, before they each gave a heavy, dramatic sigh and dropped to their knees, extending their arms beyond their heads and bowing forward to place their foreheads upon the ground in mocking obeisance.

They recited together in a loud, bored monotone: "Oh, Great Harry! Master of Marauders, Mellifluous Manipulator of Magical Mayhem! We, your lowly subjects, salute you! We bow before you, eternally humbled by your clear superiority in all matters great and small! We, your beloved siblings, will …."

"…ummm….not insult your ingenuity!" Luna offered.

"…not insult your cooking skills!" Fred intoned. They waited a suspiciously long time for the second twin to speak up. After a significant pause, Fred loudly whispered, "Oy! Numb nuts! It's your turn, in'nit? Make your damn offering already!"

Haldir and Glorfindel cracked up when George moaned plaintively, "I'm thinking! I'm thinking!" After a few more moments, during which Luna sighed dramatically and shifted on the ground until she was actually more in a fetal position with her hands still extended and her forehead pressed to the grass, and Fred began tapping his feet in an alternating rhythm, which was hilarious as he was still prone on his knees, George finally shouted in inspiration, "OH! I've got it! I will not make fun of your increasing fondness for milk!... That okay with you, Glorfindel?" he added meaningfully. He yelped as Luna and Fred each stretched out a hand and slapped him in the head. Laughter echoed around the camp, emerging from various hiding places as brave Elven Warriors cautiously emerged at the apparent ceasefire.

Daugion yelped in surprise when Harry dropped down from the top of the tent to land nearly upon the elf's feet. The emerald-eyed imp winked merrily at a snickering Andenion and smirking, vindicated Taorin, then strolled importantly over to the obeisant siblings, hands clasped behind his back. He paced a deliberate circle around them, lips twitching at Luna's giggling, and paused regally before he grandly pronounced with a rolling gesture of his hand, "Forgiven."

His regal attitude collapsed at Fred's heartfelt, "Thank Fuck! My knees are numb and there's a stick embedded in my face!" With a wicked snicker, Harry walked over to Glorfindel as he tossed his retort over his shoulder at the conquered devil, "Better your face than elsewhere, my brother. That stick has burrs on it!"

Reaching his glorious mate, Harry raised slightly worried eyes to meet Glorfindel's and smiled apologetically. The tall warrior pulled his imp into his arms, sharing a sweet kiss of greeting. Drawing back, Glorfindel murmured in Harry's ear, "I understand, beloved. You and I are fine. However, I suspect Legolas may feel differently." He felt Harry freeze, only to drop his head upon the broad shoulder of his mate with an emphatic thud. The guilt flooding their bond was intense.

Glorfindel frowned at how his mate had immediately assumed responsibility – and guilt – for the actions of his siblings. Grabbing a tight handful of raven-black hair, the warrior pulled his mate's head back and met his eyes forcefully. He would not verbally chastise his mate in front of others, but they had more than one way of communicating. He placed his message clearly in the front of his mind and pushed it through their bond, knowing that Harry's ability to see within his mind would complete the action. He saw his little mate gasp as the message from Glorfindel spoke clearly in his thoughts: "You **WILL NOT** feel guilt for the actions of another." The elf did not even have to be able to speak mind to mind to read his beloved's response; he knew that Harry would immediately begin to rationalize as to why the guilt belonged to him. Stern hazel eyes caught and held distressed green, refusing to release his gaze until his mate accepted Glorfindel's rebuke as being valid.

Watching approvingly as Harry reluctantly conceded the point, Glorfindel rewarded his mate with gentle kisses and a soothing, long-fingered hand massaging his scalp where he had tightly gripped the dark hair. Harry offered a halfhearted smile up at his truemate, feeling miserable that one of his family was doubtless hurt by the actions of his siblings and himself. He nodded slightly as Glorfindel murmured, "Leave it to Gimli to resolve, _herven_. Trust him." Sighing resignedly, he tugged Glorfindel over to the food-laden table and handed him a plate.

As most of the camp's occupants gathered for a wonderful morning meal, the reason for the morning's melee was explained. It seemed that the four were returning to the tents when Ithilwen had another vision, one which dictated that the camp should be packed up and all should return to Lothlorien. The siblings wanted to make this a festive occasion, rather than simply pack up and leave, so they decided to make a large, communal breakfast. This was especially important to them because it would be necessary for some of their number to separate from the main group and scout a good campground for the whole group and the Lost Tribe, nor would the majority of warriors be needed for the trip to Isengard. Considering ways to cook such a large breakfast efficiently, as the cooking stove in the tents and the fire pits would not be suitable to the size or type of meal they wanted to prepare, Marcaunon called up and smoothed a long, flat stone, which he then had the Devils heat continuously with their element, Fire, as an efficient cooking surface. It worked beautifully. When the cooking was finished, Marcaunon then flattened and thinned the stone further and folded the ends to make the table upon which all the food now rested. When everything was ready, Marcaunon proudly queried, "Wasn't that ingenious?" And, although they agreed, Luna, Fred and George replied in unison, "It was primitive." And thus began the Battle Over Breakfast.

oooooooooooooooooooo

Legolas had remained awake all night. He had returned to their room after witnessing the moonlight dance of weapons, fully prepared to wait an hour or two for his mates' return. Those moments had struck deep within his soul, and he felt as if he had witnessed something utterly beautiful and unique. The tenderness with which Marcaunon had comforted Eredhion, Sidhenidon and Ithilwen struck a deep chord within the lonely elf. This had been such a long, exhausting, emotional day, and yet Legolas knew he had never before felt as safe as when he drifted off to sleep upon Sidhenidon's chest, with Eredhion warmly snugged up behind him, twin heartbeats strong and steady against him. Waking alone had been disorienting, and he was on his feet in alarm before he was even truly awake. He didn't even need to inspect the room to know his mates were not in it. Without further thought, he had dressed and gone looking. He had been joined by Haldir and Glorfindel, and had not been in the least surprised to see Gimli pacing at his side. Together, they witnessed the events in the meadow, and returned quietly to their rooms.

But Legolas had remained alone for the rest of the night. When dawnlight brightened the room, he was still huddled on their bed, holding a pillow to his stomach and staring dully at the wall.

They had not returned. They left him alone. His first night with them, and they had left him alone.

Dimly, he heard the curtain move aside. He did not look around; it was not his mates. Even if it had been, he would not have looked. They had left him alone.

The mattress sank under someone's weight, and a warm, rough hand stroked through his hair. Legolas closed his eyes in abrupt grief as tears filled them and began to spill. Strong, paternal arms pulled him up to a burly chest and wrapped him securely in loving acceptance, as Gimli's gentle burr murmured, "Ah, lad!" And as the father of his heart stroked his hair calmly and wrapped him in comforting acceptance, Legolas cried himself to sleep.

oooooooooooooooooooo

Fred and George scanned the crowd, looking for their beloved little mate. They couldn't believe how fast the night had gone; events had certainly gotten away from them. They exchanged worried glances as they realized Legolas was not out here, and immediately headed for their room. Fred caught a stern, hazel stare from Glorfindel, and suddenly a sense of dawning dread formed in his gut.

For his part, George was receiving a condemnatory glare from Haldir's vivid blue eyes, and faltered as he began to see the night from Legolas' perspective. If their little mate had awakened in the night to find them gone – and he had a growing sense of anxiety that this is exactly what happened – then Legolas would be terribly hurt.

Meeting his twin's appalled look, the two each closed their eyes in sudden horror at what they had done to their fragile little mate. Oh, Merlin, they hadn't intended to be gone so long, and instead they had abandoned him to his first night with them – alone, in their bed.

They turned as one to race to their room, only to abruptly halt at the sight of a coldly angry Gimli standing in the doorway, strong arms crossed as he leveled a condemning stare at them. With an abrupt gesture for them to follow, the dwarf turned and paced into the tent. They followed him down their hallway, and almost continued on to their room when Gimli stopped at his own room, pulled the curtain aside, and ordered them in. Feeling like schoolchildren, they complied.

The tonguelashing that followed was succinct, vicious and accurate. The dwarf revealed that the situation was even worse than they knew, as Legolas had witnessed the meadow meeting and returned alone to their room to await them. Gimli verbally flayed them, and threatened to take his son and go so deep into Dwarven lands that they would never find him. He tortured them with the vision of what he found when he went to Legolas this morning. He challenged their honor, their morals, and – worst of all – their love for their little mate.

Seeing that they were truly wretched and were desperate to get to Legolas, he softened slightly. He allowed that they were young yet, and that mistakes would be made. He explained that the true measure of a person is not in the mistakes they make, but what they do to fix them. He reassured them that Legolas would not be so miserable if he did not love them deeply. He showed them how the actions of King Thranduillion in raising Legolas would make him so much more vulnerable to any sign of rejection now. He helped them understand how to make this right. He comforted them. He forgave them. And he sent them off to their mate with a strong hug each and an assurance that he still cared about them, still liked them, still respected them.

As they left Gimli's room, Fred and George felt that they had somehow gained a second father on Arda.

They were right.

oooooooooooooooooooo

…a warm cloth gently wiping his swollen eyes. … deep, soft voices murmuring of love and apologies. … tiny, delicate kisses pressed tenderly upon his face and hands. … emotions trickling through the bond, of shame, of sorrow, of worry, of love… so much love …

Drawing a tired sigh, Legolas opened his eyes. His mates knelt next to the bed, side by side, carefully touching him as if he were glasswork, quietly watching him. Two sets of sapphire eyes gazed at him, full of regret and sadness and shame.

And love pulsed through the bond.

Awed, Legolas watched as tears formed in the brilliant, blue eyes. And he knew that he did not want them there. He reached a slightly trembling hand out and found it instantly clasped by both of his mates. George dropped his face to their joined hands, pressing kiss after kiss upon Legolas' skin, as Fred raised his other hand to cup Legolas cheek and whispered with painful sincerity, "Oh, Baby. We are so sorry. We are so very, very sorry."

And Legolas understood that Gimli was right. His mates were wonderful. They loved him deeply. They would kill or die for him. They suffered because they had caused him pain.

They were not perfect. But they were his truemates. And really, that was all that mattered. They could work through the details as they went.

He offered a slow, gentle smile of forgiveness, of acceptance, to the twin devils of his heart. And they joined him on the bed, wrapping around him, soothing his headache, whispering of forgiveness and love and gentle, private things that would normally never be said, except in such raw moments as this.

Exhausted, the three drifted to sleep. They were unaware of the curtain pulled quietly open. They did not see Gimli standing in the doorway. The curtain alarms did not sound. Why would they? It was simply their father, checking to make sure they were all right.

The warmhearted dwarf watched the three with gentle eyes for a moment or two, before nodding in relief and firmly closing the curtain behind him. With a lighter step, Gimli set off to take up the tasks that may have fallen to the three he left behind him, curled around each other in the bed.

His children needed to sleep.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**BACK AT BREAKFAST**

"Well? Why haven't you guys begun eating?" Marcaunon questioned authoritatively, eyeing each of the visible elves as if they were unruly elfings. "Get your butts out of hiding and take a plate. Now!"

Elven warriors, each of whom was at least a thousand years older than their General's mate, gaped at the stern Demon who chided them like elfings as he pointed to the food. Bemused, they nevertheless hastened to comply, amazed at the apparent change in the somber man. Although he still seemed somewhat dark and haunted in spirit, his demeanor at present was one of teasing and lightheartedness.

Glorfindel was amazed as well – and suspicious. Although he had felt the troubled spirit of his little mate begin to settle somewhat through the course of the night, he had also felt the turmoil Marcaunon experienced at the thought that Legolas' feelings were hurt by his actions. As much as he wished otherwise, his little mate would not – _could _not – heal overnight. The warrior was reminded of the moments when Marcaunon had demonstrated his false face and lure to the elves of the camp. The young Istari was beginning to recover from the horrors of his past, but the ache from Marcaunon's side of their bond demonstrated what the young man was trying to hide. Glorfindel's eyes narrowed as he studied his emerald-eyed imp, easily seeing the mask and the shield behind the happy, teasing face. This would require close monitoring.

Haldir was not fooled by his own duplicitous mate, either. He knew when they left the four siblings in the sweet grass last night that they were having a time of healing, but the battle over breakfast this morning had born a too-happy, frenetic, somewhat brittle edge. A veteran of hundreds of harsh battles and small military conflicts, Haldir was familiar with the manner in which the soul-weary survivors of harsh times would seize moments of happiness with both hands, desperate to remind themselves of the reasons to keep fighting. Having learned that they would be breaking down the camp and moving on this day, the veteran warrior felt he understood his mate and her siblings' reactions. The four had quickly found family and acceptance with the Elven Warriors. They had declared themselves kin, and he had declared it as well on behalf of all elves, but particular of those here in the camp. Now, they were being forced through the necessities of war to separate, and although the parting was not due to battle, it reminded the four of painful departures in their past and bitter separation. This assessment was confirmed by their need to mark the occasion with a special meal. He suspected that the loss of Marcaunon's godfathers, Sirius and Remus, had left bleeding wounds on the spirits of all four of the young Istari. He shook his head somewhat sadly as he watched his beautiful mate sparkle with an almost urgent gaiety, as if she were seizing this moment from the jaws of the pain to come.

Gimli, too, was aware of the nuances of the moment. Although he had missed the infamous battle, having been busy comforting his son and then upbraiding the other two, he had heard about it in vivid detail from the amused warriors. Taorin, in particular, seemed to be taking a lot of good-natured ribbing from his fellows. The easygoing elf took it in stride, simply offering the dwarf a long-suffering smile as he handed him a plate of food. But neither Gimli nor Taorin were blind to the determined lightheartedness of Marcaunon and Ithilwen. And as neither of the new friends were strangers to the havoc battle plays on the psyche of its survivors, they were both fairly certain they understood what was happening and why. And each resolved to keep watch and lend a shoulder where needed. For now, it seemed Haldir and Glorfindel were managing the situation just fine.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**BREAKING IT DOWN**

In truth, from the moment they learned it was time to break down the encampment and move on, none of the warriors had been immune to the occasional lump in their throat or too-bright eye. This entire experience had marked them, changed them, in a way they would never have anticipated. Elves were such a long-lived race that even the youngest of them, Andenion Ambertrail, had much in the way of surprises left. That is not to say they were jaded or cynical; in fact, there was a certain air of wonder in an elf that was immensely appealing to all who encountered one. Only an elf could sit for hours on a tree-limb, listening to the song of its leaves. Only an elf could smile with utter delight at a child of any of the brighter races of Middle Earth, tolerant of every behavior simply because of the precious quality of the young. But elves paid for their longevity not only with their low birth rate, but most markedly with the loss of life's surprises, of anything new. Even marriages among the elves simply moved a known person from one place to another; there were no new family members to meet and get to know.

And yet, these past few days, four of the most delightful, original people ever to live on Arda had joined with them, each mated to an elf – new people, new stories, new magic, new knowledge, new culture, new _family _– NEW! And rather than be intimidated by the noble elven race, the elves found themselves embraced by these astonishing, wonderful people, welcome by them as kin. Even their lodging was wonderful and original. It had taken a remarkably short time for these two-hundred, long-lived elves to become fond, even sentimental, about the new Istaris and the wonders of this camp. They had even welcomed a _dwarf _into their midst with barely a ripple, unless one counted laughter.

And so, as the Elven warriors gathered their gear from their rooms, they looked about themselves longingly, already missing what they had here. While eager to return to family and friends, they were going to miss the companionship of the Demon Team and Marcaunon's terrifying yet amusing tales. They were going to miss the comfort of having their comrades next door. They would miss the wonders of the communal water closets and rain room. They would miss the beautiful central rooms with the fireplace they all admired so much. And, although those with spouses or lovers were eager to return to their sides, those without partners would deeply miss the camaraderie that came from sharing these quarters that were perfect for providing companionship as well as privacy.

And, frankly, they were going to miss the laughter.

Once everything was packed up and the warriors were gathered outside, Marcaunon shrunk the tents. As the subdued twins each pocketed some of the shrunken items, the emerald-eyed leader turned to face with the saddened elves with an understanding smile. Putting a flat tent into his pack, the raven-haired man leaned slightly against Glorfindel, standing tall and strong at his side, and spoke to the gathered warriors.

"I think you are all misunderstanding something crucial. Although we are breaking camp and will briefly separate, we will reconvene again at the next big battle, or some other time in the near future. You know that, right? And when we do, regardless of how many join us in the new camp, you – our original two hundred – will be back in your original rooms. We will accept nothing less than that." He smiled fondly at the surprised elves, watching as happiness spread cautiously among them.

Ithilwen teased gently from within the shelter of Haldir's arms, "You thought differently? Did you not hear our declaration of kinship at all?"

Harry shook his head, smirking at the happiness the elves were now radiating, and began to concentrate on soothing the land which had hosted the camp. Running his power caressingly over the ground, he returned the grasses and wildflowers to their former glory. The elves watched with delight as a carpet of new, green shoots burst from the hard-packed dirt beneath their feet and grew to their knees. The shimmering dome of magic splashed back to the earth, nurturing it and removing all traces of an encampment from this place. It was as if they were never here. And although the elves felt nostalgic pangs, their connection with the natural world sang with joy at the care and healing freely dispensed by the four Istaris.

"Alright, everyone. Just like at the end of the battle at Helm's Deep, please. Actually, this time, if you can make the circle more like the petals of a flower, connecting to each other and inward to our mates and siblings and finally to me, the trip will be less unsettling for you." Marcaunon's words brought rueful grimaces to many of the lovely faces in the circle, as the warriors recalled the unsettling feeling of being sucked through a tiny tube by their own navels and shot out the other end. Hastily, the elves complied with his request. Had anyone been circling overhead, it would have looked like an elven-made snowflake, spiraling inward to connect with a single head of raven-black hair in the very center.

Haldir wrapped a long arm around Ithilwen's waist and tugged her to his side. He dropped a gentle kiss onto the silken hair as his beautiful beloved suddenly turned her face into his shoulder, hiding the sudden misting in her blue eyes.

Sidhenidon and Eredhion had no released Legolas even once since packing their belongings. They had left the gifts from Rohan in the room, packing only the essentials, and kept Legolas close to them at all times. They touched him constantly, and he was not sure if they were reassuring him or themselves. 'Probably both,' the gentle mused, allowing his larger mates to direct his position in the chain. It seemed the two devils felt that he was safest standing with his face pressed to Eredhion's chest and with Sidhenidon covering his back – closely! He huffed an exasperated sigh, but allowed them this bit of control. He knew that the events of the morning had probably wounded them much more deeply than they had hurt him. Looking around as best he could with most of his view taken up by Eredhion's impressive chest, he caught a sneaky grin from Gimli and brightly winked at the snickering dwarf.

Held securely in Glorfindel's arms, with the members of his family pressing hands to their backs and shoulders, Marcaunon stared into his husband's eyes and asked for a picture of where they were headed. Once he had a lock on the image he was immediately provided, he closed his eyes, relaxing his aura to expand around and embrace all of his new brethren, and apparated. Once again, he easily carried with him over 200 other people, a feat not even Dumbledore or Voldemort could have done. With a soft crack, the group disappeared, and a soft breeze swept through the long grasses, erasing even their last footprints from the land.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**SURPRISES IN LOTHLORIEN**

For weeks now, the Lady of the Woods had watched in her scrying basin as events from the past, present and future of this world and another played somewhat tetchily before her otherworldly gaze. She had seen the arrival in Middle Earth of the Chosen of the Valar, the four Avenging Angels, and had watched the events of the battle at Helm's Deep unfold in myriad ways. She knew that the best outcome had been for her to send some of her own forces – well, all right, technically they were _Celeborn's _forces - led by her own Marchwarden – also technically Celeborn's - and the General Glorfindel. It had been fun to gently convince the jaded, golden-haired warrior to lead her forces without hinting what was to come. Although, possibly she should have given a hint or two; it had greatly annoyed Celeborn when he learned that there had been multiple fates and that she had warned neither his oldest friend nor Haldir of the possibilities. It had not been certain that the female Istari would retrieve Glorfindel and Haldir in time. In most of the versions she had watched, the Lady had seen both the golden-haired balrog slayer and her own Marchwarden cut down brutally. And that would have been sad, and she would definitely have written a lovely lament for them. But it would also have been quite interesting, would it not? The _changes _those two deaths alone would have wrought would have been enough to keep her interested for moons and moons!

Still, she'd had a good feeling about it all turning out with the best outlook, and decided mischievously to take the chance that events would play out in a manner best for all concerned.

Of course, she had not shared any of this with Celeborn, her _herven_, until he had come upon her laughing softly as she watched the waters, and had heard her murmur something about how she hoped it would be this particular future that played out, as she was fond of Haldir and even had some liking for the arrogant Glorfindel. Celeborn had demanded the full truth of what she had seen, and Galadriel had been quite taken aback by his grim-faced visage as he glared at her. She had even felt a small chill of apprehension when her _herven _had taken her rather tightly by the upper arms and hissed, "You had best plead with the Valar that my friends return safely, _herves_. Truly, pray fervently." Although she was not entirely certain, it had felt almost as if Celeborn were issuing a threat. And although she felt his reaction to be rather disproportionate to her little game, she had nevertheless taken to watching the events of the present diligently. Of course, she had seen that Haldir and Glorfindel were safe, and had dutifully informed Celeborn. She found it odd that he remained stern in her presence; after all, events had played out as he wished!

Giggling mischievously, the swan-like Lady flushed lightly as she recalled watching the mating antics of her _herven's _two friends. Her brows wrinkled in slight confusion as she recalled how her view had been mostly obscured during those times, the waters fogging and rippling as if being acted upon by the Elements themselves. Still, she had seen enough glimpses here and there to feel her own body moisten and ripen again, yearning for Celeborn's touch. When she had gone to him, however, he knew that she had sought his attentions immediately after a viewing, and he had sneered slightly and rejected her touch. It was unlike him to do so; he loved her deeply. Distantly, she wondered if he had taken a lover, but knew that to be unlikely. They were truemates, although so many millennia had naturally resulted in decades here and there of coldness and distance. This seemed to be one of those times.

Returning to the viewing waters, Galadriel rested her graceful hands on the edge of the basin and gazed closely at a startling image. She saw that the Valar's Chosen were coming to her own woods, along with the warriors she had sent (none had been lost; Celeborn would be pleased!), the Prince of Mirkwood, and, oddly, the odious dwarf who had recently departed as a member of the Fellowship. Her delicate nose wrinkled slightly, having no fondness at all for any dwarf but this one particularly. He seemed to have a touch of Sight himself and had deflected her attempts at a little game with the insecure princeling. Before she could murmur more than one or two pointed remarks about his father's displeasure with such a friendship, the dwarf had somehow sent a little snap of thought through the princeling and pulled the young one firmly out of her mindtouch. It had hurt, too! It had felt like someone had flicked her in the head quite hard – not that anyone ever had or would, but the Lady could imagine the feeling! Arrogant dwarf. She had tried to retaliate by directing the Fellowship toward a path that would have ended the overprotective little pretender, but it had always been oddly difficult to See much about any dwarves and particularly any of the line of Gloin. That was why Gimli's father had managed to escape from Thranduillion despite the Lady's assistance – and she truly hoped that Celeborn never found out about her true role in _that _little fiasco! It appeared Gimli was cut of the same, annoying cloth, and just as his father had protected Glorfindel and Bilbo Baggins from her games, Gimli was protecting Legolas Greenleaf.

Galadriel wasn't certain if he was also protecting Glorfindel and Haldir and the others or not; the actions of the waters felt somewhat different to dwarven touch. Still, something was being obstreperous and she was displeased.

A thought drifted through the back of her mind, that perhaps she should check on the voyage of the One Ring and the amusing little hobbits, but she did not do so. She knew that the little hobbit's success was crucial to the salvation of their world, and that billions would die and darkness fall over Arda if Sauron found Frodo and his bauble, but the newcomers were just so much more entertaining than watching two little men and an obsessed piece of filth walk and climb and trudge and fret and struggle. Endlessly boring! She would quickly check in on them later, just so she could reassure Celeborn she was meeting her obligations.

The last time he had decided she did not meet her obligations, he had taken truly shocking measures against her. He must have heard of the spanking thing from the human son of Elrond, or possibly even Glorfindel. Certainly none of her people would ever have conceived of such barbarism, much less have administered it upon her person. She had not been able to sit properly for a week, and he had not even soothed or apologized to her! She had been quite put out at the smirk he wore each time she tried to seat herself for a meal.

She paused briefly, momentarily convinced to check on the hobbits. 'But the _present vision_ is just so much more interesting!' she whined to herself. Her basin clearly showed that she was due to be in some sort of a confrontation with the newcomers, although once again the waters were fogged and shivering. She tapped a delicate, slippered foot lightly in mild irritation, because the lovely Lady of the Woods would never be so crass as to stomp her feet like an elfing deprived of a toy, and frowned into the mirrored waters. There was simply no _reason_ for the waters to deny her, and she did not like it. It was not amusing at all!

Galadriel pulled all of her powers to her, and forcefully calmed the waters before her. She needed to know when the newcomers would arrive. Concentrating on the one known as Demon, she caught a brief image of him before it shimmered and devolved into three – or was it two? Four? - separate figures she did not recognize. Transfixed, she watched as the briefest of images formed before they, too, dispersed in a burst of … how odd!... had that been feathers? White feathers. She wondered if Ithilwen had dispersed the image, as she had white wings while in her Angel form. Was she a Seer, too? Well, this was vexing!

Even as Galadriel pouted lightly, she felt the boundaries of her Woods chime lightly within her senses, telling her of the imminent arrival of the very ones she had sought in her waters. Clapping her hands in delight, she quickly left her private garden and stepped lightly into the center courtyard of their communal lands, seating herself gracefully on the delicately carved rim of a lovely fountain. She had a brief thought that perhaps she should have sent word to Celeborn, but it was far too late now. She wished to make a certain impression, and so remained in an artistic pose, waiting for the newcomers to happen upon her. She truly loved it when people who had not been privileged to see her first encountered her. Their awed appreciation and uneasy fear as she whispered in their minds was wonderfully entertaining. The members of the Fellowship had been particularly amusing. That human Boromir had been so ashamed at his weakness, which in truth was simply love for his people and a willingness to do anything at all to protect them. With just a word or two from her, he could have turned weakness to strength! It was a pity he had been slain – as she knew he would be, of course. Changing his path would have required far too much effort to keep the others as she wanted them. Still, he had been fun. She sighed reminiscently and continued to pose, watching the colorful fish swim through the fountain.

She absolutely did NOT jump when she heard a masculine cough just a few paces away. Looking up in startlement – and when was the last time THAT had happened? – she was amazed to be confronted with two hundred Elven Warriors, Glorfindel, Haldir, Prince Legolas, the dwarf (and WHY was he tagging along?) and, standing cold and silent with their respective mates, the four Chosen of the Valar. Spotting movement in her peripheral vision, she cast a catlike glance to the side and saw her own cold-eyed _herven _Celeborn pacing sternly to her side, accompanied by his guards. She avoided his threatening gaze effortlessly and turned back to inspect the four young newcomers. They were interesting, indeed.

The first to capture her close attention were the two, fiery-haired twins who stood protectively on either side of the young prince. She dismissed the elf easily; she had already met him, many times, and he was uninteresting. But the two tall warriors were fascinating, seeming quite fiery but with very cold, forbidding expressions on their delightfully unusual, handsome faces. Curiously, she sent her mind questing into theirs. She was briefly startled to realize that their minds were both individual and joined, but that was all she saw before a barrier of fire and smoke roared up around her Sight. She frowned. That had been unexpected.

Next she turned her otherworldly gaze upon the luminous blond standing back to chest with Marchwarden Haldir. Briefly glancing at the powerful elf, she was startled at his cold glare, but dismissed it easily; he was a bit temperamental at times. Focusing on the dreamy blue gaze of Haldir's mate Ithilwen, she entered the woman's mind – and slid right out again! The Lady was confounded at her complete inability to penetrate the woman's mind. Adding strength to her attack, she launched again into the misty mind of the young woman and found her Sight was deflected by a barrier of water and air, a barrier that reacted to her increasing attempts to gain access by swirling into tumultuous waves and lashing winds. Retreating, Galadriel gasped lightly, utterly bewildered. How was this possible? Not even Sauron could keep her out of his mind; she had simply not chosen to look at him since his mind-touch made her ill. Her experience when Frodo offered her the Ring had shaken her a bit; the temptation to evil had been intoxicating and arousing, but in the end, Galadriel was one of the Eldar and did not succumb. Since then, she had steered well clear of Sauron and his servants. She scowled delicately at the newcomers, who were most certainly not of Sauron. They should be open to her. This was unacceptable.

Celeborn placed a remonstrative hand on her shoulder and uttered a sharp warning, "Galadriel. _Daro! Cease this!_" Of course, she didn't; she was the Lady of the Woods, and she was not accustomed to being denied.

Somewhat incensed now, Galadriel narrowed her eyes and gathered her power, turning her gaze sharply upon the brilliant emerald eyes that glared coldly at her. Locking stares, the Lady slammed her power into the vulnerable mind that waited – and found herself trapped.

Moaning in horror, she found herself pinned to the bloodied ground of a nightmarish battlefield. Death and decay surrounded her. The stench was overwhelming and she fought the urge to vomit. Skeletons littered the ground, and many bore the life signatures of people she had left to their fates without speaking a word of warning. She heard an ominous rattling of bones and armor to her left, and turned to face the bloodied, rotting corpse of Boromir. Pulling her hand from the ground into which it sank, she was sickened at the blood and worms that painted the delicate ivory skin as she raised it to ward off the accusing glare and raised sword of the latest victim of her indifference. A morbid army began to form from the bones and blood and earth surrounding her, and just as she began to scream in utter, terrified horror, she was seized from below and pulled downward through the moldering earth, to emerge abruptly into the real world again and be thrown forcibly back into her own body. The impact of her ejection from the Demon's mind was so powerful that she nearly toppled backward into the fountain, saved from that indignity only by the angry grip Celeborn had on her arm. She could tell by her Lord's rigid control that he was furious.

Gasping for breath, the shaken Lady raised a trembling hand to grip her herven's tunic as she stammered, "Seize them! Celeborn, seize them! Guards!" It took only a single, dismissive gesture from Celeborn for the guards to return to their watchful positions. Galadriel shook her head in denial, gathering her composure and preparing to regain control of her realm. Celeborn's grip tightened punishingly on her shoulder as he read her intent, and he leaned down to hiss in her delicate, leaf-shaped ear, "Silence! Once again, you go too far, Galadriel! You have disobeyed me enough for this century! Now, look to our guests and apologize – _sincerely!_" He glared at her as she raised mutinous eyes to his, and winced slightly as he gripped her hair firmly and forcibly turned her head to face the demonic Istari who had assaulted her. She glanced around for assistance from her warriors, and was shocked to find herself the focus of impassive expressions from her own people, and fierce, cold glares from the newcomers, their three mates, that pestiferous dwarf – and, most confounding of all, the two-hundred warriors that she had sent to Helms-Deep. As she cast her gaze around in confused betrayal, a dark, cold voice began to speak. Reluctantly, she turned to the speaker, and once again met the frightening, gemlike gaze of Glorfindel's emerald-eyed mate.

"I was not aware that rape is the preferred pastime of the renowned Lady of the Woods." The words struck the Lady like hailstones, and even her guards began to look angrily at the raven-haired Istari. Although he stiffened, Celeborn said nothing. Had she not been so upset, the Lady would have found his silence most distressing of all.

But Galadriel was furious. "How dare you? How DARE you accuse me of such vileness? I shall have your life for uttering such filth about me!" At this, Demon merely smiled coldly, unimpressed. None of the resident elves failed to notice that all of those newly-arrived or returned to Lothlorien had placed a hand on sword – in _defense _of the Istari who accused their Lady.

Demon's gaze did not falter. "You say you are not a rapist? To which part of that do you object: that what you did was rape, or that you did it at all? Where we come from, forcing part of yourself into the body of another without invitation or consent, particularly when that person denies your efforts, is _RAPE_. … ah, I see from the reactions of your people that we share the definition, then. So, what? It wasn't you? It was not you who forcefully inserted a part of yourself into the bodies of my brothers and my sister, and myself, and countless others? It was not you who did so without invitation or permission? It was not you who tried to use greater force when we protected ourselves from your assault? It was not you who penetrated us while we tried to resist, all for your own pleasure? Because, _Lady_," he sneered, "I am fairly certain that it _was _you."

He watched her gape at him for a moment, and saw some of the Lady's guards exchange troubled glances. Unrelenting, he continued, "Where we come from, it is polite to at least _ask _a person before you insert part of yourself into them. Perhaps the Elves of Lothlorien are different? Is rape enjoyable here? Do you not care if you are assaulted, so long as it's by your Lady? Is it less of a violation, since she is pretty … and old?" She flinched at his words, but none were certain if she was reacting to his accusation or his insult about her age. She tried to turn away, but Celeborn held her in an unrelenting grip, forcing her to face those she had wronged most recently. "Tell me, Galadriel, if I tried to force a kiss on those lovely lips of yours, and you refused me, and in response I held you down and forced my tongue into your mouth, would that not be an assault? Or would it be just fine because I am powerful?" He continued to glare at her as she shuddered in revulsion and dropped her gaze.

Demon swept his piercing glare around the wary guards and settled on Celeborn. "Tell me, Lord of the Woods. If power is her justification, does she at least employ what she gets out of it to aid your people to the best of her abilities? Can you at least comfort yourself with the knowledge that she does this," and here Demon could not keep his lip from curling, "_for the greater good_? Or does she simply mindrape people for her own entertainment?"

Celeborn met the hard, emerald stare evenly, and allowed the young Istari to read his answer on his face. No, Galadriel did very little of late on behalf of her people, or of anyone. There had been a time, several millennia ago in their youth, when she had been all that one would wish the Lady to be. But that was a long time past, and the Lord of the Woods acknowledged that it was time to either change the Lady's ways or confine her abilities. The steady gaze meeting Demon's assured the young man that Galadriel's punishment was imminent and would be at the hands of her husband. Few realized that Celeborn was the true power in these Woods. That is how he had wanted it, up until now. But times of vast change had come to this world, and the Elves must change with it or retreat from it. There was no middle ground.

Demon read all of this on the Lord's face, and his own face softened slightly as he nodded respectfully at the stern elf standing regally before him. Dropping his gaze to look at an abashed Galadriel, he cast one last cutting remark. "Even in the roughest taverns, the one taking his pleasure upon another casts a few coins at the victim when they pull out and tuck themselves back in their pants. Or do you not even have the manners common to a whorehouse, _Lady_?"

The shame on her face, and the disgust tangible in the demeanor of the Elven Guards and Celeborn, ended the confrontation. Satisfied, Harry stepped back slightly and leaned into Glorfindel. The muscular arm immediately wrapped around him and pulled him close. Harry closed his eyes and sent gratitude through the bond, fully aware of the amount of restraint it had taken for his glorious _herven _to allow him to fight that battle alone. Glorfindel and Celeborn met each other's gaze steadily, and much was communicated in those moments. It was fortunate for the Lady Galadriel that they were such good friends, because Glorfindel believed the non-verbal assurance of his oldest friend that Celeborn would be punishing his lady very soon and with great … 'impact' seemed a good choice of wording to use. Therefore, Glorfindel did not have to kill her. It was a given that the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower would most assuredly have done so, and would by their laws have been entirely justified. Galadriel's life was about to change radically.

As the Lady of the Woods fled in shame, Celeborn visibly assumed the mantle of his own power and authority. With a few words, the returned warriors disbursed, and the newcomers were given their own _talans_ – as in the case of Gimli and of the twins and Legolas – or sent off to their mates _talan_. Information was given about a communal mid-day meal, and within a very short time, the courtyard of Lothlorien was empty, except for a stern-faced Lord of the Woods who stood gazing thoughtfully into the fountain for a few moments, before turning and pacing deliberately toward his panicking _herves_, following her easily as she fled through the woods.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**DEVIL SANDWICH**

Legolas entered the _talan_ assigned by Celeborn to the three truemates. He had been gently sent on ahead by Haldir, who had detained Eredhion and Sidhenidon for a few moments of conversation just a few feet from their new door. The young prince turned and observed the discussion taking place, worried that Haldir was taking his mates to task for the error of the night. He could not detect any distress coming through the delicate bond with his devils, and from what he could see, none of the three looked angry or upset. Perhaps Haldir simply had some information to share, or was arranging to meet later in the day.

He turned quickly and went further into the talan when Haldir departed with an agreeable nod and the fire-haired twins walked to the doorway of their new home. Celeborn had simply turned the _talan_ over to them in full, saying that it was theirs from now on. Legolas ran a long-fingered hand gracefully over the gauzy curtains that surrounded the bed and reflected gratefully that he had not heard the eerie Lady speaking within his mind again. He was shocked at the events that unfolded upon their arrival in Lothlorien. He was not surprised at the defenses of his mates and their siblings, but at the response of the elves. It seemed that no one, not even Celeborn, supported the Lady's actions. He shivered slightly as he recalled the look in Celeborn's eyes, and was deeply grateful that he was not in the Lady's slippers at this moment. Celeborn looked to be an elf on a mission.

Warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind and pulled him back against the strong chest of Sidhenidon. Legolas did not even have to look; he knew his mates by touch alone. Startled into a smile, the elven prince placed his arms over Sidhenidon's and leaned back willingly into the embrace. Sinful, talented lips nipped and kissed his neck and throat, sucking lightly on the graceful arch of his ear and slowly heating his blood.

He felt his breathing quicken as Eredhion stepped deliberately into his view, watching intently as his brother caressed and aroused their little mate. The look of intense focus Eredhion wore as his sapphire eyes ran over Legolas had an immediate effect on the slim elf, an effect that Eredhion immediately noted with a slow-dawning smile of predatory satisfaction. Feeling his heartbeat speed up, Legolas tilted his head up as Eredhion stepped closer, filling his little mate's vision as Sidhenidon began to run strong hands over their elf's body, easily finding the spots that sent Legolas' arousal spinning higher and higher.

Eredhion placed warm hands on Legolas' cheeks, cupping the beautiful face as he bent down and pressed his lips hungrily on their little one's lightly panting mouth. He did not take the time to seduce Legolas; he overwhelmed him. His mouth moved ravenously over Legolas' lips, his agile tongue sweeping in and easily subduing the small battle Legolas employed. He swept large hands beneath the tunic that was in his way, forcing it up and over Legolas head with Sidhenidon's assistance. The twins immediately attacked the toned, cream and roses skin revealed to their eyes and hands. Legolas eyes flew wide as Sidhenidon's hands worked on the waistband of their elf's leggings while Eredhion sent their mate into overdrive with a ravenous tongue sweeping against his own and devilish hands that found his nipples and tweaked and pinched and rubbed them into hardened points of sensation.

Sidhenidon's mouth returned to suck on his elegant neck as the man uttered a sound of triumph, successfully opening Legolas leggings and dropping them to the floor of the talan. Legolas moaned and panted, overwhelmed by the calloused hands that stroked his body, rubbing his buttocks and tormenting his nipples and stroking lightly on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. He threw his head back in shock when Eredhion dropped gracefully to his knees in front of him, rubbing a slightly rough cheek and chin on Legolas hardened erection. He sent a devilish look upward at his twin, who grinned down at him and captured Legolas mouth in a no-holds-barred, passionate kiss just as Eredhion, with no warning at all, took the long, beautiful cock in his hand and plunged his open mouth down upon, sucking and swirling his tongue, delighting in the salty taste of their mate's precum and the silken steel that sat heated and heavy on his tongue.

Suddenly captured in a wet, open-mouthed kiss from Sidhenidon, Legolas shrieked into his mate's mouth when a kneeling Eredhion deep-throated Legolas' cock without even a moment's warning. The strong hands that firmly held his hips was all that saved Legolas from thrusting wildly into the hot, wet mouth that sucked and swallowed and tortured him. Oh, Valar, how was it even possible, what Eredhion was doing with his tongue whilst still sucking and swallowing Legolas' cock?

Together, the twin devils overwhelmed their little elf, one going high, one going low. And poor Legolas, who had thought himself mentally prepared for what two mouths and four hands could do, had not accounted for magic. Even as his cock was sucked with a talent that could have made Eredhion declared a god in some cultures, and as his mouth was possessed by Sidhenidon, who kissed like the devil he was, and his nipples were teased and tormented, still, something else was working upon Legolas' body. There was too much, too many sensations all over, for him to focus, but he was fairly certain that the trail of tingly heat that wound down his back and between his legs, encasing his heavy testicles and sliding a dangerous tendril up, between his buttocks and – his soft blue eyes flew wide and staring in pure shock – _entered_ him. The magic tendril penetrating his nether entrance unerringly found the bundle of nerves that it sought and rested lightly upon it, beginning a pulsing, vibrating rhythm of heat and pressure that squeezed his balls and tortured his prostate, as Eredhion worshipped his cock and Sidhenidon kissed his mouth and licked his ears and tormented his nipples and …..!

Arching impossibly taut, Legolas screamed into Sidhenidon's willing mouth as a tremendous orgasm was ripped from the graceful body. The twins continued their ministrations, pulling and squeezing and coaxing every last shudder of sensation and drop of his essence that Legolas could possibly produce. The pleasure seemed endless, a long, shuddering, shrieking seizure of ecstacy that rose and rose and rose and finally crested into a point of intense pleasure that was a butterfly's breath away from pain.

As his grayed-out vision slowly returned and his heartbeat fought to return to normal, Legolas found himself still the center of attention for his amazing mates. The magic on and in his body turned soothing before fading into a gentle hum, and the strong hands massaged and soothed him in long, gentle sweeps of comforting pressure. The mouths that had tormented him now soothed and delighted him, dropping gentle kisses lightly wherever they chose to land. As he returned more fully to himself, Legolas found that he was tucked once again in a large bed between his incredible devils. He was so very tired, but managed to wake himself enough to say, "But… what of you…?"

His query was met with twin, devilish chuckles and a dark whisper in his ear, "Magic, little one. That little teaser that entered you was connected to both of us, as well. When you came, so did we." At the thought, Legolas' exhausted cock tried very hard to twitch in interest. Dark laughter whispered around him as his other ear was lightly nibbled and a soft baritone murmured, "Late, beloved. This time, you sleep between us, sent into slumber only for the best of reasons. We promise, we will be right here still when you awake."

Unable to resist the pull of the dreamgods, Legolas drifted into sleep as two sets of sapphire eyes met in agreement. Haldir's advice that they claim the mating bond fully so that they would always be aware of their little mate's needs and state of mind had not been in vain. Their beloved Legolas would never again feel the sting of rejection for any reason from the Devils.

It was common knowledge that the Devils' take care of their own. And Legolas was theirs. After tonight, he would never again be able to doubt that fact.

Settling around the lithe, graceful form of their little mate, the two devils joined hands and rested them on Legolas' stomach. Neither would sleep; they would stay awake and guard their little mate from the attentions of the Lady of the Woods and anyone else who showed an unkind interest in their mate.

No one would ever hurt him with impunity again. Not even them.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**WHITE FEATHERS**

Gratefully settling into Glorfindel's talan, Harry would have loved it regardless of its size (large) or decorations (tasteful and masculine) as it was set at the highest possible point of one of the remarkable, huge trees of Lothlorien. The two truemates took seats on the outdoor porch and simply enjoyed the sussura of the trees and the company of each other. It had been a busy day already, and it wasn't even nooning mealtime yet! Shaking his head as he replayed the confrontation with Galadriel, Harry turned to speak to Glorfindel when a white form suddenly swept silently over their heads. Startled, the two ducked in unison and then rose to their feet to track the form. They watched together as the flowing white form wheeled silently in the air and returned for another overhead pass.

Glorfindel detected no hostility from the creature, but he felt that retreating back into the _talan_ would be wise. He reached out for Harry's arm, only to pause as he saw his mate's expression. Harry stood before him, gazing after the winged ghost, wearing a look of the most painful hope the Elven Warrior had ever seen. Resting a warm hand on his mate's faintly trembling arm, Glorfindel asked softly, "Marcaunon?...Harry?...What is it?"

Harry's gaze did not stray from the silent flier for a single instant. His throat moved convulsively, before his mate gasped briefly for air and then whispered in a near-sob, "Hedwig! It's my Hedwig!"

It took a moment for Glorfindel to recall when he had heard that name, but when he did his wondering gaze also turned on the beautiful, white owl gliding to a silent rest on Harry's outstretched arm. She was a beautiful creature, larger than a normal owl by at least half, with white feathers that nearly glowed in their purity and brilliant, topaz eyes that seemed to hold great character and wisdom.

The warrior watched, entranced, as what should by all rights have been a wild, untamable creature nipped gently at his mate's trembling fingers and emitted a soothing, hooting-hiss that was utterly distinctive from any other bird Glorfindel had ever seen.

Hedwig calmly endured the tears of her master as Harry rubbed his face against her feathers and sobbed again. She turned her brooding, brilliant gaze to Glorfindel and the warrior felt himself measured and judged. The owl emitted another distinctive call at Glorfindel, seeming to chide him for keeping his distance. Cautiously, the warrior placed a soothing hand on Harry's back, offering the other up slowly to the owl for its close inspection. The owl blinked once, which Glorfindel took for approval. Holding his breath, he reached out and carefully, gently stroked the beautiful feathers. It was like petting silk.

White teeth flashed in a handsome smile as Glorfindel heard Harry shakily offer, "Dig deep through her feathers on her breast or her head and really scratch. She likes that. My Hedwig is no delicate bird, you know. Hedwig's tough!" Taking his mate at his word, Glorfindel complied and watched entranced as the beautiful owl shivered in pleasure and pushed back against his fingers to deepen the scratch.

Sharing a wondering look with his little mate, Glorfindel gently asked the beautiful bird, "Lovely lady, how did you come to be here?"

Hedwig simply blinked again, topaz gaze focused serenely on her beloved master. The Familiar bond was no longer aching. Her master was happy. His mate was good. The family was here. That was pretty much all she cared about.

Well, that and ensuring that her master's mate continued the lovely scratching.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**ANOTHER SURPRISE**

The nooning meal Celeborn had arranged was being held in a lovely garden located beneath the shade of a massive tree around which a winding, graceful staircase with distinctive, elven filigree seemed to have grown. A slightly-blushing Legolas avoided their knowing gazes as he informed his amused mates that the tree housed the royal _talan_ of the Lord and Lady of the Woods. Most of their family was already seated at the Lord's table. Celeborn sat at the head of the table. Haldir and Ithilwen sat across from Eredhion, Legolas and Sidhenidon. Next to Sidhenidon was Gimli. The seats across from Eredhion and Legolas remained vacant, awaiting the arrival of Glorfindel and Marcaunon. The Lady's seat was noticeably empty, as well.

As the companions conversed lightly with Celeborn, they heard a stir of surprised gasps and exclamations of wonder from the diners seated elsewhere. Looking around, they saw Glorfindel approaching, with Marcaunon at his side. Glorfindel had his hand on Marcaunon's lower back, and seated between them on his mate's shoulder was….

"_HEDWIG_!" The owl's name was shouted incredulously in three-part-harmony by Eredhion, Sidhenidon and Ithilwen. Celeborn, Legolas and Haldir could only stare as the newcomers leaped to their feet and rushed over to pet and coo over the magnificent owl on a beaming Marcaunon's shoulder. All of their frantic questions were answered the same way, "I don't know!" Glorfindel looked over and smiled at a shocked Haldir and an awed Legolas, then met the eyes of the Lord of the Woods and raised his own eyebrows meaningfully. After a moment, Celeborn nodded in somewhat-wry acknowledgment. Galadriel didn't stand a chance against these people. Not as she was now, anyway. As she had once been … perhaps.

On a really good day.

With luck on her side.

And an army.

And the Valar.

Celeborn watched closely as the others greeted and petted the lovely owl. When Marcaunon approached him, he rose to his feet and gently but fearlessly extended a hand to dig long, soothing fingers between the thick feathers and scratched. If Hedwig's eyes could have rolled back into her head in pleasure, they would have. As it was, the long, hissy-hoot she emitted sounded embarrassingly like a lecherous moan of sexual pleasure. Celeborn's eyebrows raised in delighted amusement and he could not prevent his hearty laugh as color swept up Glorfindel's mate's face and turned the frightening Istari into a blushingly charming young man.

Celeborn did not miss the effect that blush had on his fiercest warrior, either. He was happy for his general, but could not resist a mocking grin when he caught his old friend's eye. He laughed again at the half-hearted glare he got in return.

For his part, Marcaunon was determinedly ignoring their interaction. Instead, he was insistently declaring to the two red-headed devils that he had no idea how Hedwig had come to him. Just as he was starting to get a bit annoyed at their patent disbelief, he was interrupted by a sound he had not expected to hear in several years, if indeed, ever again.

"Pup!"

"Cub!"

The twin shouts caused Marcaunon to whip around so quickly that Hedwig's claw unintentionally drew blood as she fought for balance. She hissed in annoyance, but her bonded didn't even notice. He stood stockstill, shocked to his very core at the unbelievable sight before him. Glorfindel turned to look as well, standing slightly in front of his mate in a protective stance as he assessed this newest surprise.

Entering the dining courtyard, escorted by a broadly smiling Gimli and a suspiciously bright-eyed Taorin and Daugion, was a handsome, slim man with cloud-gray eyes and soft dark hair. A pace ahead of him was a friendly-faced, sandy-haired man with unusual, amber eyes and a slightly-animalistic grace about him. Both men moved with speed, intensely focused on Glorfindel's mate. The joy in their slightly-weathered faces was profound. It was mirrored on Harry's face.

Glorfindel could feel the strength with which his mate was restraining himself from leaping for the two new arrivals. He wondered at the delay, but not for long. Raising a cautionary hand, Harry halted the progress of the newcomers and uttered in a strong, slightly shaky voice, "Who was especially Grim when the ordeal of the Cup was too much, and where did he sit? And what does a wolf teach its cub to drink?"

Sadness and resignation warred with pride in the gray and amber eyes fixed on Harry. The first to speak was the dark-haired man, who barked a harsh laugh and answered, "I was, and am Grim, and when the Tri-Wizard Tournament got out of hand, I would kidnap you and the kids and Remmie and go to the other side of Black Lake to play with the giant squid and the merfolk."

The amber-eyed man spoke next, with the same emotions mixed in his slightly-feral gaze, "And I don't know what real wolves teach their cubs to drink, but this wolf taught you to drink chocolate milk, and we experimented with other flavors that we like. We discovered the hard way that nacho is definitely not one of them."

Harry's unnatural rigidity collapsed in a drawn-out, sobbing sigh of pure joy as he launched himself into the open arms of the two men. "Sirius! Remus! Oh, Morgana, how…? And Hedwig! How? What?" He continued to babble as he was pulled into the warm embrace of his godfathers. Glorfindel and Celeborn watched for a moment, before it occurred to both to turn and look at Harry's siblings.

Luna, Fred and George each sat frozen in their seats. Haldir had an arm around Luna as he stood behind her, trying to urge her to stand on her wobbly legs. Legolas had an arm around the waist of each of his stunned mates, a long-fingered hand buried in the fiery hair of each head, as he tried to pull them up against all logic of weight and mass.

Fortunately, Harry recovered enough to whip around in the arms that held him fiercely, casting a piercing emerald stare at the seated siblings before he growled out, "DEVILS, ANGEL! Get your asses over here!"

With that, energy seemed to flow back into the three, and a few seconds later the small family was united in a happy reunion. They clung together, the two older men somehow managing to get each of the four siblings under their touch. They were watched with gentle smiles on the lovely faces of their mates, many of the elves of Lothlorien, and one bright-eyed dwarf.

Harry suddenly broke the hug apart, much to the confusion of the others, and stalked over to grab Glory's hand and tug him back to the group. Luna immediately leaped into Haldir's arms, wrapping long legs around his waist and directing the laughing love of her life to join her family. Legolas was lifted in a joyful set of arms that belonged to George as Fred seized his face and kissed him fiercely before dragging them over to join the growing crowd.

Standing next to a broadly-smiling Celeborn, Gimli saw the four siblings turn and gaze meaningfully over his head, only to emit a startled snort as a chuckling Daugion and Taorin picked him up by the arms and tossed him toward the group. The towering devils and Glorfindel easily caught the airborn dwarf and settled him into the group as well. Finally, their family was complete.

Feeling a weight on his shoulder, Celeborn turned startled eyes to see that he was now serving as a perch for a snowy owl. Raising an eyebrow, he inquired, "Will you not be joining them, beautiful one?" Her dismissive hoot and deadpan stare were remarkably communicative. Fluffing her feathers, she rotated her head to stare behind her at a snickering Taorin and Daugion. Caught in the deadly topaz glare, both warriors froze and then carefully straightened their postures. It was quite an odd experience, to be chastised by an owl! Shaking his head ruefully, Taorin reflected on the fact that this was actually twice in one day that he had been singled out for the amused attention of his peers.

Again taking the lead, Harry quickly introduced his mate to his godfathers. The golden-haired warrior found himself fixed in two feral stares as the older human men evaluated him. He returned their looks openly, unafraid of what they would see. He knew who he was and what he would do for his beloved mate, and he was certain that these men were only concerned with how well he would treat their son. Getting approving nods and extended hands, he shook their hands one after the other and returned their nods with his own, appraising stare. This seemed to win them over completely, and smiles broke out briefly before they turned to meet the others.

Luna serenely introduced Haldir, who mirrored Glorfindel's stance and attitude. The Marchwarden would kill for his mate, and these men, if they meant to harm his beloved in any way, would shortly be dead. Oddly, the clear threat in his eyes resulted in a glare-off between the alpha of the pack, Remus, and Luna's mate. The matter was decided when Luna reached over and smacked Remus on the nose, then turned and shoved her tongue down Haldir's throat. Suitably distracted, Haldir immediately forgot all about the two new men and returned his mate's attentions with interest. It took a while before the two actually heard the uncomfortable coughs of Remus and Sirius, and longer still before they separated and turned back to face the snickering siblings and broadly-grinning mates. Haldir blandly met the aggravated stare of Remus, who finally huffed and looked aside. Sirius immediately leaned over and shook Haldir's hand, uttering a laughing, "Well done, well done! Don't ever do it again in front of me, please." Haldir simply smiled in return and made no promises.

Next, a giggling Legolas was pulled from his haven in Eredhion's chest by the warm arm of Sidhenidon, who introduced him to Remus and Sirius with a shocking statement. "Pa, Dad, this is Legolas He's our mate. We choose him over everyone, even you. Understand?" Legolas blanched at the deadly-serious looks on his devils' faces, and was just about to try to qualify their remark when he felt a soft touch just under his chin. Turning, he found himself caught by compassionate, amber eyes. Legolas breath caught unexpectedly in his throat as the feral man said gently, "Welcome to our family, young Legolas. You will find that we are all intensely loyal and protective of our own. Don't worry over the way the boys' introduced you; just know that, should the time come for defense, we will be standing by their side and in front of you. _Heniach nin_?" Legolas looked wonderingly between the gentle amber eyes of Remus and the soft gray eyes of Sirius, standing comfortably by Remus' side. Nodding shakily, the elf clung to Sidhenidon's hand and softly said, _"Tancave. Gen hannon._" Satisfied, the gentle hands released his chin and Legolas stepped back into the comfort of Eredhion's chest, still clinging to Sidhenidon's hand tightly. Remus returned to his position as Sirius simple stepped forward and pressed a light kiss on Legolas forehead, whispering, "Be welcome in our family." Smiling slightly, he, too, stepped back and swept his gray gaze over the circle of people gathered.

His gray eyes paused on an uncomfortable Gimli, who had been trying unsuccessfully to back out of the circle, prevented by a strong grip from Glorfindel on one side and Haldir on the other. An amused smile lightened his narrow face as he asked, "And who is this? Clearly a family member, unless you routinely ask people to hurl you through the air."

The embarrassed dwarf was promptly introduced as "Gimli, who is Legolas' heart-father and seems to be father number three now for we four, as well." Amber and gray eyes locked assessingly on the short, auburn-haired dwarf, registering the kindness in his blue eyes and the lines of laughter and worry on his face. An instant affinity sprang up between the three, and Gimli found himself warmly welcomed and actually believing that he was a bona fide member of this odd little family.

Glorfindel beckoned to Celeborn, who had no qualms about walking over to them despite the fact that by rights they should have approached him. He was a Lord when necessary, but there was no need to stand on ceremony in situations such as this. He accepted Glorfindel's friendly grip on his shoulder, carefully avoiding Hedwig's sharp talons, and nodded his head in genuine welcome as he was introduced to Remus and Sirius. Hedwig's position served as a stamp of approval for the protective men, and Celeborn joined the ranks of those sincerely welcome in this unusual company.

Although he gestured for an extension table to be brought to the Lord's banquet, Harry nonchalantly waved his hand and the astonished Lord and residents of Lothlorien watched the table lengthen and more chairs appear. Those Ardans who had come from the encampment and already witnessed such magic chuckled in delight, watching the wonder in the eyes of their kin. Celeborn seated himself again at the head of the table, and had a small, potted tree brought over for Hedwig to perch on. She hooted her thanks and settled down for a nap, tucking her head beneath her snowy wing and willfully ignoring everyone and everything else.

And for the first time, ever, the entire family, complete with parents and mates and benevolent friends in the persons of Celeborn, Taorin and Daugion, sat and ate together.

It was the best meal Harry had ever had.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

**FAMILY DINNER**

Glorfindel watched in amusement as Remus, seated to Harry's left, sneaked a little more food on his _herven's _plate while Harry was looking over at Sirius, who was seated across and further down on the right, between Luna and Sidhenidon. He shook his head in bemusement as Harry mechanically ate the food, so focused on the conversation he didn't notice he was eating something he had not even put on his plate.

Seated at the end, with Remus on his right, Celeborn also watched the byplay with sheer delight. Briefly, his thoughts strayed to his lovely wife Galadriel, who was currently reclining in their talan on the divan with her newly-reddened but still-delectable backside facing up to avoid friction. He sent a view pulses of interest and curiosity and fascination down the bond at her, greatly enjoying his ability to torture his beloved troublemaker with images of the wondrous newcomers and all of the unheard-of things that he was witnessing in her absence. Sensing her shrill shriek of frustration, he tipped his head back and laughed heartily, causing a brief silence at the table at the seemingly random burst of amusement. Eyes alight with enjoyment, he said simply, "Galadriel. Bond. This." His encompassing gesture toward all that 'this' entailed at the table caused everyone except Remus and Sirius to burst into laughter, too. Glorfindel and Haldir were both particularly amused, having wanted to see the Lady's comeuppance for quite some times now. Luna lightly explained the situation to the bewildered Marauders, glossing over the details of their meeting. Meeting Harry's eye sternly, Sirius said unequivocally, "And you will explain this in more detail later, won't you? Perhaps a pensieve memory?" He waited for Harry's reluctant nod before releasing the green gaze and returning to the prior discussion with Haldir on the merits of dragonhide leathers.

"So these were two of the Original Marauders?" Glorfindel asked his husband, watching in amusement as his husband was fussed over like he did to everyone else. He noted that Sirius magically placed a little more food on Harry's plate – fruit, this time - as Harry turned to look up to answer his question. As Harry explained more fully about the original Marauders, sneering as he briefly mentioned the rat, Sirius and Remus worked together to place tiny bits of food on Harry's plate as soon as his attention was turned away. Glorfindel had to admire these men; they were as sneaky as Elrond's twins. They worked in balance with each other, never putting so much on the plate that Harry would notice. They simply kept up the cooperative effort until Harry eventually ate an entire meal and settled back, bewildered, at feeling so sated from a meal he had barely eaten. And during the entire course of the meal, the two men pulled most of the details of the past several days out of the siblings, absorbing infinitely more information than any of them actually expressed. The warrior elf was certain that there was no one else in either world who could successfully outwit his little mate.

Finally, with the constraints of Elven propriety met by having properly fed his guests, Celeborn asked the question everyone wanted to know. "Master Sirius and Master Remus. Would you share with us how you came to be in Arda?"

All attention was immediately focused on the two. Sirius raised an eyebrow and gestured to Remus to begin their own tale. Raising his glass in acknowledgment, Remus took a sip and considered a brief moment where to start.

"First, you should know, if you don't already, that time moves differently between Arda and Terra. Did the goblins explain this?" At that, Celeborn nearly choked on his ale as he sputtered, "Goblins? Excuse me?"

Laughter rippled around the table as everyone realized they had left one part of the tale out. Glorfindel quickly summarized the situation with the Lost Tribe returning as Harry summoned the letter from Ragnok for Celeborn to read. The Elven Lord read the letter twice, before raising astonished eyes to Glorfindel's. At his friend's reassuring nod of confirmation, a slow smile spread across Celeborn's handsome face as he breathed, "_Ai_! At last, we Eldar may keep hope for ourselves, as well as for the race of man! Truly, my new friends, _gil sila na lu govaded_! A star shines on our meeting!" The dining companions allowed the emotional Lord a few moments to regain his composure. He stared at the letter in his hands, and slowly a truly evil grin formed on the beautiful face. Those who could see such things saw a small pulse of bond magic around the elf, almost immediately followed by a distant scream of rage from the Lady of the Woods. Glorfindel and Haldir both dissolved into helpless laughter as they realized that Celeborn was torturing his _herves _with tiny tidbits and miniscule hints of the wonders she could have seen and learned if only she had acted like a grown-up instead of like a spoiled-rotten merchant's daughter. When the laughter died down, Celeborn smilingly gestured for Remus to continue. The amber-eyed man cheerfully complied.

"So, as I was saying, time between the worlds moves differently. The few days that you have apparently been here have been several months on Terra. During that time, we completed the tasks you set before us and established proctors and Regents to serve in our stead on those issues that require it. We met our goals much more quickly than expected, thanks to the body of work you four did before the Final Battle. It took us mere months instead of the many years we had all anticipated."

Remus paused to take a sip of his drink as Sirius piped up, "There was no way we were waiting years to see you again if we didn't have to. Even if we could have endured it, which is doubtful, Lady Hedwig would have insisted on leaving as soon as possible."

Nodding ruefully as he remembered all of his shredded scarves and books that resulted from Hedwig making her position clear, Remus continued, "When we went to Gringott's to set up the Regent-work for the wizarding orphanages and the Magical Creatures Sanctuaries, Ragnok took us into his office and explained about the Lost Tribe situation. The instant we learned that they had a way to come to Arda, we demanded to come ahead. We would have agreed to anything, but he said that it was his right and his privilege to serve the Lord Demon and his family in any way he could. He gave us a portal-key and instructions and that was that. After a few more arrangements, here we are… dining with elves and dwarves and our kids and their wonderful, new mates." And at an irritated hiss from a grumpy owl, he added hastily, "And Hedwig, of course!" He dismissed Sirius' snickering easily; after all, it wasn't the canine's belongings that the owl kept destroying, now was it? He knew whose ass to kiss, and it was white and feathered. As if hearing his thoughts, Hedwig gave a self-satisfied hoot and settled pompously back into sleep.

Watching the amber-eyed man as he related his story and interacted with his family and new friends, Celeborn had the odd thought that he needed to make sure he introduced Remus to Erestor. Both males seemed to be remarkable scholars; he felt they would form a strong friendship. Looking speculatively at the bright, gray eyes of the dark-haired Sirius Black, he ruminated over which of his acquaintances would first seek the handsome Istari's companionship. Celeborn did not know whether Sirius or Remus preferred the company of elves or elleths or both… or, well, men or women, he supposed would be more accurate up to this point in time … but he was certain that neither would lack for companionship in any form it was desired. If he were not truemated to the troublesome Galadriel, he would not object to sharing close companionship with either or both of these men. They were fascinating, attractive, unusual, and wonderfully honorable people. He felt a little bit of envy for Haldir and Glorfindel and young Legolas, and sighed in resignation as he accepted that he would only ever have friendship with any of these delightful people. He smiled slightly at the thought, and realized how much more he had now in his life to keep him happy and involved compared to mere hours ago. Suddenly, the world was new again … and Celeborn embraced the adventure with the entirety of his remarkable soul.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**GRASSHOPPER**

At dinner that evening, Sirius immediately began the discussion, "Forgot to tell you kidlings, especially YOU kiddo," he nodded meaningfully at Harry, "we have a few letters in our possession from some people who might surprise you. It seems not everyone is happy to stay on Terra. I don't think they know exactly where you four are and what you're doing, but apparently two facts have been figured out: you aren't on Terra, and these people want to be wherever you are. One of your favorite teachers and her apprentice, in fact, are very eager to pack up a couple of greenhouses worth of stuff and follow you! I'll give you the letters later."

The six eagerly discussed the possibilities for a little while, then decided to save the 'what-ifs' until they had read the letters.

After a brief pause to take a few bites, the discussion turned to some of the more memorable pranks that had been played by the people who, the listening elves were agreed, would put Elrohir and Elladan's pranksterism in the dust. "Elrond will be horrified!" Haldir snickered, catching Glorfindel's eye and gesturing at the living Marauders. Raising their glasses in salute, Celeborn, Glorfindel and Haldir all toasted the soon-to-be beleaguered Lord of Rivendell. As another furious shriek echoed from the vicinity of Galadriel's rooms, the three elves snickered into their drinks. The remaining diners had become accustomed to the occasional shriek or crash from that direction. Few knew that her erratic bursts of temper were due entirely to Celeborn's efforts, although Celeborn was sure that both Haldir and Glorfindel suspected the extent of his efforts.

They all looked up as the quick footsteps of a harried elleth sounded across the courtyard. Celeborn greeted the elleth who approached him and tipped his head toward her to listen as she whispered hurriedly in his ear. At his negative response and broad smirk, the elleth assumed a pleading expression and tried again. Haldir was the first to crumble when Lord Celeborn sat back in his chair and said in a normal tone, "The Lady Galadriel has made her bed and now she has to lie on it – facedown, unless her tastes for pain have changed recently." The humans at the table were unsure if they should laugh, but odds of them resisting were reduced to zero when Glorfindel raised his glass in toast and offered, "To the rosy-cheeked Lady of the Woods, may her complexion ever bloom." Celeborn solemnly drank to the toast, and joined in the laughter that swept the table. As the hilarity faded and the defeated elleth trudged away, conversation returned to past pranks.

Remus, Sirius and Celeborn, as well as the eavesdropping elves all around, were fascinated and amused by the description of their arrival at the celebratory dinner at Helms Deep. The favorite of that event seemed to be Gandalf's head of fruit, although the fact that the eight departed by air under their own power would have won if any of them besides Sirius and Remus could have accurately envisioned it. Harry promised to try and get a projective-pensieve memory from Theodin when next they met, but in the meantime Luna gracefully leaped to the center of the table and called her wings. In the fading light of the setting sun, the delicate blond looked utterly ethereal, and when Hedwig landed on her outstretched arm and also spread her wings, the stunning vision left more than one elf inspired to render the image artistically. Casting Hedwig back into the darkening sky, Luna called back her wings and dropped straight down into Haldir's strong arms, which were open and ready to catch her – as they would always be. The devotion and love in the Marchwarden's eyes as he held his Angel brought lumps to many throats that night.

As they gazed into each other's eyes, the conversation continued around them.

"So, there's Fred and George, planning on pranking Sirius when he left the kitchen. Unfortunately - for them - Sirius has enhanced smell thanks to his animagus form. Actually, his vast pranking experience was probably more than enough to warn him, but the super-sniffer helps! Anyway, he was prepared and came out with a big pitcher of freezing water," Remus recounted, smiling at the put-out faces of his twin sons.

"The beauty that it was!" Sirius crowed. "Second-generation Marauders, supposedly the 'Pranksters Extraordinaire', defeated by a dog nose and a pitcher of plain water! Hah! Face it, if you two are smart, then **I AM A GENIUS**!" Sirius howled, grinning like a loon. Laughing at his chortling godfather, Harry wondered if the man had consumed a little too much ale, but decided it really didn't matter. This was a time for relaxing with family.

Of course, hangover-payback was always fun, too. Smirking to himself, Harry began to plan a nice wake-up call for his godfather tomorrow morning. Considering what Harry was about to make happen, he was fairly certain that there would be volunteers to help wake Sirius up. Glorfindel and Haldir both saw the same 'Demon-is-plotting' look they had seen the day before the return trip to Helms Deep and exchanged wry, slightly worried glances. These pranksters were a little bit frightening in terms of sheer ability.

"Yeah, well, that resulted in a Declaration of Prank Wars, and if my memory serves me correctly – which it always does - we won that war," Fred huffed indignantly. It was still a sore point that they had been outmaneuvered by water, considering their Element was Fire. Mortal enemies and all that! The only consolation was that they had lost that prank to an original Marauder.

Actually, Legolas' comforting hand rubbing circles on the inside of his thigh was another consolation….a big one!...Growing bigger by the circle, actually.

Sending a perplexed look at his twin at the weirdness that was coming over their bond, George added loyally, "You are correct, brother dear. I have the same memory. He won the battle; we won the war!" As George took a drink of water, he suddenly realized what was happening with Legolas' hand and Fred's … err…growing happiness, and his snort of laughter was quickly followed by a bout of choking and coughing. Fred grinned knowingly at his gasping twin, who sent him a glare full of laughter and dark promise.

Caught in the center of the bond and being inundated with erotic thoughts from a devil on each end, poor Legolas stared hard at the plate in front of him and pushed his chair closer to the table to hide his inevitable reaction. Unfortunately, he could not hide his flushed cheeks.

Fortunately, everyone at the table was too considerate of the gentle elf's shyness and did not comment, although numerous glares were aimed at the twins.

As everyone was paying attention to the twins, Harry grinned evilly and summoned a pitcher of icy water, placing it casually by his dad's hand. Neither Remus nor Sirius betrayed him by a single flinch or glance. All of them knew that within the next few moments, Sirius would send the pitcher flying towards the twins accidently. Remus was fully aware of the situation and was ready to instantly cast a shield around Legolas, unwilling for the nicest person at the table to be caught in the prankish antics that followed the Marauders of both generations.

And they would never know that Harry had planned the whole prank war to help enliven the days of the staid elves of Lothlorien. Their original two-hundred had proven that elves had wonderful senses of humor, and there was just nothing like the harmonic symphony that resulted when hundreds of elves laughed together. To hear that again, Harry decided, was worth a lot more from a prank than a simple pitcher of water – but this is how it would start.

Harry counted down to the precise moment and watched gleefully when Siri let his hand fly and connected with the water pitcher. Sirius was completely shocked at how easily the pitcher took off under the impact of his hand, and immediately realized that Harry had gotten him again. The scamp had put a weightless charm on the water inside, leaving only the negligible weight of the pitcher itself to keep it resting on the table.

Just as the water went flying, Remus cast a shield over Legolas. Sirius and Harry barely had time to feel the flash of gratitude before the icy water tipped from the pitcher and drenched the twins face-first. They sat there, gasping in reaction with icy water dripping down their face and running in rivulets off their hair. Legolas sat between them, completely bewildered – and completely dry.

Everyone froze – especially the twins, because WOW, that water was cold! Even Harry, the consummate little actor, seemed to be shocked into stillness as Sirius' face paled at how much more… well, just how much _more_! Ignoring Legolas twitching lips and shaking shoulders, and carefully not paying attention to the hilarity flaring through the bond from their 'sweet little mate', the twins ominously rose to their feet, pushing their chairs back and declaring in one voice, "THIS MEANS WAR!"

Sirius, forced to choose between an apology and a co-declaration, remembered that he was no damn Hufflepuff and stood up as well. Lifting a calculating eyebrow, he asked, "Terms as usual?"

"Agreed."

With a flourishing sweep of their robes, which would have looked much more imposing and less like runway-models if any of them had actually been _wearing_ robes, the three men imperiously departed to go plan in their separate _talans_.

Also, Fred and George wanted to change, because wet leather made squelching sounds and left welts when they walked, and drying charms didn't work on dragonhide.

Those remaining at the table sat stunned and gaping, not entirely certain what had just happened. The silence was broken as Legolas broke down into an incredibly infectious bout of giggles, which immediately spread to everyone else. It was made that much funnier as they watched the shy young elf, who had collapsed onto the table and currently had his hands clenching his own hair as he tried to reassert control. Every time he was almost calm again, Gimli would lean over and offer another snickering commentary on the affronted departure of his oh-so-manly mates, and Legolas would dissolve again, and the rest would join because it was impossible not to.

Honestly, it was seriously one of the cutest things Celeborn had ever seen. The little prince was adorable - flushed face, sparkling eyes, tears of laughter running down his cheeks, and the cutest giggles ever just kept flowing. Celeborn could not understand why Galadriel so easily dismissed little Legolas as 'uninteresting and unattractive'. With another evil grin, he viciously sent this latest image winging her way through the bond, and the ensuing scream from their talan was music to his ears.

It helped that Glorfindel and Haldir had a renewed attack of out-of-control laughter as his grin widened at the discordant bellow his delicate little _herves _produced. Truly, that elleth had a set of lungs on her that would do a barmaid proud. He made a mental note to do something nice for the elleths attending Galadriel; they deserved a reward for … well, mostly for not killing her where she lay. Or at least adding to the bruises on her butt, which Celeborn assumed as still bared to the open air rather than risk fabric literally rubbing her the wrong way.

Finally, Remy turned to Harry and evaluated him. "Pup? I don't recall a water pitcher on the table…. At. All."

Harry met the piercing amber stare and kept his face expressionless as the silence grew and the minutes ticked by. After five solid minutes of staring down his Papa Moony, Remus tousled his black hair and said approvingly, "Nearly a master, Grasshopper."

Harry's blank expression dissolved into a proud smirk, which then quickly disappeared beneath Glorfindel's lips. Emerald eyes fluttered closed and all of his pranking thoughts stuttered and shut down, leaving Harry with only one clear thought. "Merlin, my Glory can _really_ kiss!"

oooooooooooooooooooo

**IN DEFENSE OF FAMILY**

The hour was fairly late. Night had taken over the Woods, and beautiful, aromatic lanterns glowed throughout the courtyard and gardens and stairwells of Lothlorien. A soft, elven song was being performed in some remote talan, and the harmonious music drifted lightly through the garden pathways that Legolas wandered.

He had decided that the actions of his mates and Harry and Luna the prior night were not only understandable but wise. Finding himself unsettled by all of the wondrous and horrible things he had learned and seen and experienced since joining the fellowship, not to mention just in the past several days, the introspective prince decided it was more than time for him to organize his thoughts and center himself again.

After an hour or two of ambling thought, he had come to a conclusion. He had left the Mirkwood for the Conference at Rivendell as an unappreciated prince with one good friend – Estel. He had many acquaintances, and knew people that he would enjoy knowing better, but his father the king had forbidden personal relationships until such time as the king arranged a marriage with a politically-advantageous elleth.

And, of course, it had to be an elleth. Thranduillion disliked same-sex relationships and forbade them to Legolas on the basis that he could not produce heirs. The fact that the last elfling born to any of their people was over fifteen-hundred years old meant nothing to Thranduillion.

Since the conference, Legolas now had a number of people he cared about personally and who, he could finally accept, cared about him. In addition to his friend Estel, and his friendly acquaintanceship with Gandalf, Legolas had found – and lost – a friend in Boromir. He discovered that he could be paternalistic toward someone when he met the four hobbits. In Gimli, he had more than a good friend: he had, for the first time, a true father. At Rohan, he found he genuinely liked and was liked by King Theodin. Despite the ominous times, Legolas had been happier than ever before, although the sanitation of the place still made his skin crawl.

And then – The Demon Team. And suddenly, what he had though was life in full color turned out to be muted pastels, as the vibrant life and vivid personalities that are Marcaunon, Ithilwen, Eredhion and Sidhenidon exploded into his world and sent him reeling along with them.

And now, he had his amazing mates, an incredible brother, a phenomenal sister, _three_ heart fathers, the kinship of Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer and of Haldir the Marchwarden, and even the friendship of Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien and over two hundred of Lothlorien's best warriors! His heart and life were so full he felt like leaping into the air just to express his sheer happiness.

And he suspected that tonight, Eredhion and Sidhenidon would truly make love to him and take their truemate bond to its purest strength. He shivered in anticipation of the night to come, and turned with a small, happy smile to retrace his steps to their new _talan_.

Like a spear of ice, a cold, frighteningly familiar voice pierced the night. "This is how you spend your valuable time away from the Mirkwood? Wandering in the garden thinking happy thoughts with an insipid smile on your face? Is it, _Prince Legolas_?"

Momentarily frozen in horrified recognition, Legolas drew a shallow breath and turned to face his father the king.

Thranduillion stood partly in shadow, tall and cold. His piercing stare swept over his son with contempt, a sneer marring his fine features. He missed nothing as he inspected his offspring, pleased only at the signs of unease in the clenched fists and rigid posture. He waited impassively for the whelp to gain the courage to speak, knowing that the unpleasant tenor of his son would be shaking in fear.

He was to be surprised. He did not enjoy surprises.

Legolas met the cold gaze of his father the king – he never called the elf 'ada', not even in his thoughts. Taking strength from his recent conclusions, Legolas voice was steady and even as he replied emotionlessly, "I was merely clearing my mind and organizing my thoughts, as you have had your chamberlain instruct me."

Thranduillion's eyes narrowed hatefully, displeased with the seeming retort from his spineless son. "You are a disgrace, to your name and to your people. Your word clearly means nothing to do. You can't even stay with the fellowship you pledge yourself to! Weakling! Failure!" The sneered words sank through Legolas like sharpest knives.

Swallowing against his rising fear, Legolas remembered his resolution of yesterday, in which he pledged that if he were again faced with his father's withering wrath, he would simply recall three, perfect memories of his mates and of his own, British Bathroom. Faced with the familiar sneer, it was very hard to picture specific memories, so instead Legolas summoned to mind all of the joy he felt with his mates in their talan, with his family and friends at the noon and evening meals, and forced down the familiar feelings of self-hate and doubt ingrained deeply within his soul by his 'loving ada'. Sending a burst of need and fear through the delicate bond with his mates, he then squared his shoulders and simply regarded his father with cool, blue eyes. He inspected the elf before him in the same manner he had been inspected – and was equally dissatisfied.

Thranduillion could not believe that the weak-willed little nothing that he had been forced to name 'Prince' was looking upon him as if at a filthy dwarf. The blue eyes did not show the respectful fear that should be there; Legolas stood unbowed and looked him straight in the eye. How DARE he look his king in the eye?

Legolas watched the elf who had caused his birth, because in no way had this person actually raised him, and saw the all-too-familiar rage rising rapidly to the surface. Thranduillion was not known for an even temper. Legolas was unsurprised to see the king clench his fist and raise it preparatory to sending it crashing into his son's face. This, too, was familiar to the young prince. His only concession to the inevitable explosion of pain as fist met face was to close his eyes prior to impact. He found that doing so seemed to reduce the jarring pain in his mind afterwards, whenever the 'noble king' was done beating his son for the crime of seeing him clearly.

The impact never came. Instead, Legolas heard a slap of flesh hitting flesh, and then he heard his father – his FATHER – gasp and whimper. Soft blue eyes flew open, to focus uncomprehending on his father's fist, mere inches from his face, but frozen in place by the crushingly tight grip of a strong, masculine hand with distinctive rings on the fingers. Marcaunon's hand.

Risking a look at the enraged Istari, Legolas rapidly reassessed. This was not Marcaunon. This was Demon.

Blinking again at his furious, whimpering father, Legolas realized that a wall of magic shimmered between Thranduillion and himself. Taking a step back, he realized that Devil was on his left and Devil was on his right, each holding out a hand and maintaining the shimmering wall of magic in front of him. Eredhion offered him a sideways grin as he calmly stated, "He couldn't have touched you. Two more inches and he would have crushed his hand against our shield. I almost regret that Demon stopped him."

His mate's voice was much too calm. Frighteningly so. Looking up at Sidhenidon, he realized that this Devil was too furious to even speak. His jaw was clenched and pure murder burned in impossibly hot blue flames within the sapphire eyes. Eredhion was not much better, he could speak, but only because Legolas needed him to. Rage roared within this Devil, as well.

Demon stood like a carving in coldest stone. His emerald eyes glowed with power, and his iron grip on Thranduillon's wrist was unmoving. The King of Mirkwood twisted and flailed in the implacable grip, and finally spat contemptuously, "You would do well not to meddle in what doesn't concern you, _boy_!"

The last word had the effect of a dropped, lighted torch in a field of driest grass. In short, Demon ignited.

Thranduillion barely had time to register the burning pain in his wrist before he was screaming and twisting through the air, effortlessly hurled three meters from his mewling son by the demonic man who was clearly possessed by Sauron! Hitting the ground with a graceless thud, the king painfully gained his feet, clutching his burned and bruised wrist, and began to shout and scream for Celeborn and his guards. As Thranduillion looked around and saw that he was surrounded, not just by his worthless son and those strange, redhaired men with glowing eyes at his side, and not just by the possessed man who had burnt him, but also an oddly-familiar redheaded dwarf was coming up behind him swinging an ax expertly. To his left, a feral looking pair of men prowled toward him, eyes glowing like a cat's or a wolf's may. A little further forward, a delicate woman twirled twin short swords with effortless ease, never taking her deadly gaze off of him. To _her _right was…

"Haldir!" King Thranduillion gasped. "What is this madness? Stop them! Summon aid!" He stumbled into silence as he realized that Haldir was looking particularly deadly himself, and was holding a cocked arrow pointed directly at the king's heart. Thranduillion gaped, backing away as best he could and casting his gaze wildly around, past the crazed man with the glowing emerald eyes and saw …. Oh, thank the Valar!...

"Glorfindel!" the King breathed in purest relief. "And Celeborn! Oh, my friends, what goes here? All I did was chastise my worthless son, and suddenly I am the focus of maddened people from three separate races!" And, with a somewhat frightened look at Remus and Sirius, who were growling, he added tremulously, "Possibly four."

It was not Celeborn who answered him, nor Glorfindel. Actually, Glorfindel looked more like he wanted to spit him whole, roast him over an open fire and feed him to the orcs than aid him in any way. And Celeborn was cold and impassive – and also not helping him in any way.

"You are absolutely right, King Thranduillion. One should never meddle in the affairs of others. I can see that you believe chastising your son, using your fists as well as words that burn into his soul, is entirely your business. I can respect that." The words that came from Demon settled one by one into Legolas' lungs, slowing his breathing and making each breath hurt more. Was Demon truly telling the King that beating Legolas was acceptable to him? A reassuring pulse of pure love and comfort came rocketing down the bond from both of his Devils, pushing aside the old patterns of rejection and self-doubt and clearing Legolas' mind enough to see the truth of the situation, rather than to react in the familiar patterns forced upon him by his father.

"However, the son you are 'chastising' with your fist is my family. He is the mate to my brothers. As far as I'm concerned, that makes him my brother. So, here's my solemn advice, from me to you, '_noble elf'_," the mocking tone was sharp and painful, "leave…Legolas…alone. Forever." Thranduillion reacted with typical rage, shouting that _no one_ had the right to keep him from his heir.

At that, his Devils leaned in to Legolas and nuzzled his neck and ears, and Eredhion asked him gently, "What do _you_ want, baby? Do you want to be his heir? We'll support you, if you do." And Fred, pressing a gentle kiss on the corner of mouth, whispered gently, "And we'll support you if you don't. Whatever you want, little one. We will never leave you. And either way, that bastard will never abuse you again."

Legolas leaned into the strength and warmth of his very own Devils, and looked around at all of the people who had come to his defense, no hesitation and no questions asked. In the center, glaring at him with hate and disgust written clearly on his face, Thranduillion stood, clutching his burned wrist. Legolas knew what he wanted to do; he just wasn't sure if he could. Turning to look at Celeborn, he met the Lord's steady gaze and asked simply, "Can I? Is it allowed?"

Celeborn's expression warmed as he looked at the little elf who was clinging to the protective Devils who had truemated him. He took a moment to order his thoughts, before he spoke gently, directly to Legolas and ignoring Thranduillion's sputtering. "Oh, young one. I am so sorry that we did not see what was being done to you. It is clear, now, as I look back, that you have been on the wrong side of Thranduillion's fists and words for far, far too long. I confess that I wanted to intervene on several occasions, for lesser offenses than this, and that I followed very poor advice from my Lady. I am ashamed that I did not rescue you, Legolas. I am so very, very sorry, and I pledge to you now that you will always have a home and protection here within my realm. You are now and forever an elf of Lothlorien, wheresoever you travel. And your family – your real family – have homes here, too." He cast a dismissing glance at an enraged Thranduillion, making it clear that the King of Mirkwood was not included as Legolas real family. Turning back to meet Legolas' astonished, hopeful blue gaze, he continued, "As to your question, yes. You have every right to reject the role of Heir. It is my feeling that Thranduillion would never have turned the throne over to you anyway, considering how greedy and power-hungry he is." Now turning a regal, cold gaze on the shocked Thranduillion, Celeborn cast a killing blow, "As for you, you bullying piece of filth. You will never enter my realm again. I cast you out. You will never consult my Lady again, and she will never assist you again in your many covert endeavors. That you thought me blind to your machinations says much of your ego, and little of your intellect."

Drawing himself up regally, Thranduillion sent a cold glare of ownership at his weak-willed son. "Enough of this nonsense. Remove yourself from the filthy touch of those disgusting humans and come here at once. We leave Lothlorien and will never return, not even when they beg for our aid – and they will. This war is already in the Mirk; it will be here soon enough. They will need our help and we will turn them down coldly….." He stared at his son, who had not moved even a single pace closer to him. "Legolas! Now! To me!"

It was odd, that such a soft, happy smile of pure peace and contentment spreading across the face of his own son could cause the King to feel dread and fear. He shook his head in denial as Legolas opened his mouth and said words that hit him like blows from his own fists, "I, Legolas Greenleaf, reject you. I refuse the crown of Mirkwood. I am no longer the heir. … and I am no longer your son, Thranduillion of Mirkwood. You are nothing to me – as you have always assured me I was nothing to you."

Thranduillion whirled to glare at Celeborn, raging at the impassive Lord of Lothlorien, "Stop this! His defection is invalid! I refuse to witness it, and I am his only family!" He faltered to a halt as Celeborn smiled darkly, and began reciting Legolas' formal biography: "Legolas Greenleaf of Lothlorien, truemated to Lord Devil and Lord Devil, the twin warrior-Istaris of the House of Potter; Brother to High Lord Demon, the warrior-Istari and head of the House of Potter, whose truemate is High Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower; Brother to Lady Angel, warrior-Istari of the House of Potter, truemated to Lord Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlorien; son of Gimli of the line of Gloin, son in line for the chieftainship of the Dwarves of the Mountain Realm; son of Lord Remus Lupin, warrior-Istari and shapechanger of the Houses of Black and Potter; son of Lord Sirius Black, warrior-Istari and shapechanger of the Houses of Black and Potter – and second-heir to myself, Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien, who by my words do hereby assign Legolas Greenleaf to the royal line of Lothlorien."

He sneered at the flabbergasted king gaping at him and gestured to the guards, "Once the Lords establish terms with this piece of filth, escort him forthwith to the border and ensure he departs fully without speaking to anyone else. Do not allow him to pass along any notes or leave any possessions of any kind." As the guards bowed in understanding, Celeborn turned an understanding smile on the stunned Legolas, his own newly-named heir, albeit secondary. Few knew that he had not named his first-heir yet. Celeborn wanted to get to know the twins mated to his new heir before he confirmed that they were right to govern Lothlorien with Legolas at their side – or, more appropriately, ensconced between them. "Legolas, we will talk sometime tomorrow. After these events, I hope you all rest well and sleep late. Perhaps we can meet after dinner to discuss this? Your mates and your family are welcome to join us, or not, as you wish."

Soft blue eyes blinked at him before the young prince regained his composure enough to nod agreement and say, "Certainly, my Lord. I am at your disposal." He was immediately corrected by Celeborn, who said gently, "No, elfling. We are at each other's disposal. You must never hesitate to tell me if my requests do not suit your schedule or your wishes. I am not your former father, nor your former King. I do not punish honesty." He held the soft blue gaze until he got an affirming nod, then met the burning sapphire gazes of each twin in turn. And as Celeborn left to go see his troublesome Lady and interview her on the subject of Thranduillion, he felt relief sweeping through his system. Truly, the world was on the right path now, and his own Realm was once again a place of hope and refuge.

After watching Celeborn depart, the remaining members of the family turned back to fix Thranduillion in their stares. He stood in the center of the circle, locked in the predatory stares of six warrior-Istaris of various, terrifying abilities; a royal dwarf with a very sharp axe and a wish for blood showing clear on his face; two of the most renowned warriors of the Elven race; and his own former son, who was a master-archer and the newly-named heir to the throne of Lothlorien.

That last bit rankled most; Thranduillion detested the fact that Lothlorien was easily twice again as wealthy and powerful as his own Mirkwood. And now, he had no son, no heir, no allies in Lothlorien, no Seer to show him easy gold – and a long, cold, dangerous trek back to the Mirkwood to report his losses and failures and to lick his wounds.

But first, the threatening! He shook his head in disgusted fear as he watched the two, flame-haired Istaris caress and kiss and fondle his former son while glaring purest murder at himself. Flinching, he turned to meet the glowing, emerald gaze of the singlemost frightening being Thranduillion had ever met.

Glorfindel watched with pride and barely-suppressed desire as his little mate controlled and frightened Thranduillion, the biggest bully known to elvenkind, into a shivering, sweating mess. Harry stood over the shivering elf and spoke in a falsely-lighthearted, sickeningly kind voice. 'Ah!' Glorfindel and Haldir thought. "THIS is when his strange allure and false-face is best employed. Now, I understand." They sat back to watch the show as the shivering king was equally terrified, enticed and aroused.

"Here are the terms, Thranduillion. You want to meet my terms, don't you?' Thranduillion nodded desperately. He wanted to meet the terms, whatever they were, because he wanted to please the emerald-eyed boy in front of him. He was also quite desperate to not DISplease the young man, which was a different thing entirely. The first was desire; the second was fear. No comparison. Harry continued speaking, gently and kindly, striking pure terror into the king's soul. "Term One: You stay away from Legolas. Term Two: You stay away from Legolas. Term Three: You do not seek to harm or inconvenience Legolas or his allies in any way, ever. Term Four: You stay away from Legolas. Term Five: These terms as non-negotiable, and will be followed both in spirit and in letter." Harry's tone never wavered, he continued to speak to Thranduillion in the chillingly-kind voice that had frightened two hundred of Lothlorien's finest warriors. Thranduillion felt his bladder quiver and he began to pray that he could make his escape before he shamed himself even further by pissing down his own leg in purest fear.

"Agr…. Ahem!...agreeable," the royal elf responded, waiting tensely to see if he would be released from the strange grip of the Demon, who held him pinned by his kind voice and terrible smile in the center of these threatening, frightening people.

"Perfect! Good elfling!" Harry purred approvingly, sending a shudder of terrified arousal down the quivering elf's spine. "Go, now." Thranduillion shot from the courtyard like an arrow from one of Legolas' bows and headed for the border of Lothlorien, the guards who were supposed to escort him racing to catch up. Remus and Sirius exchanged glances, before turning into a huge wolf and an equally huge, black dog before the surprised elves. Sirius yipped a bark as the two chased after Thranduillion, hoping to get in a few nips before he reached the border. At the very least, they wanted to make him piss his pants.

Almost as one, those remaining in the circle turned concerned eyes to Legolas, standing wrapped safely between his protective mates. He had begun trembling in reaction, but his eyes were clear and his smile was bright as he met the concerned looks with gratitude and a new confidence that he wore well. "Thank you," he said simply. He knew that none of them wanted florid prose from him, as he would not want it either. By thanking them for their help, and not expressing shock that they had done so, he said all they needed to hear.

As they each paired off and wandered away, Gimli and, oddly, Hedwig, moved toward the river to watch the moonlight on the water. Legolas heard the soft crack of disapparation behind him. Before he could look, he found himself shivering as Sidhenidon turned him to face their talan, pressing a warm, muscular chest against his back as the devil's massive erection jutted proudly against Legolas' backside. A warm tongue licked a slow, erotic line up his chin to his leaf-shaped ear, where Sidhenidon purred, "Look up at our talan, beloved." Drawing in a shaky breath, trying to resist the urge to press a hand against his own hardening cock, Legolas looked up the tree to their talan. He inhaled sharply in a rapid increase of pure desire. There, standing naked and unashamed in the window, looking down at Legolas and Sidhenidon, was Eredhion. One hand was outstretched in a beckoning welcome to Legolas and his twin. The other was fisted around his huge, hard cock and was lazily pumping it as he sent all of the images of what he intended to do to Legolas this night down their slowly strengthening bond. Shivering and weak-kneed at his own intense arousal, Legolas looked at the winding staircase and was certain that he was going to die right here in this courtyard from sheer, unfulfilled desire.

He was wrong, of course. Sidhenidon swept him up easily in his heavily muscled arms and smoothly apparated them to land directly in front of Eredhion, who lunged forward and seized Legolas mouth in an open-mouthed kiss full of passion and promise.

Together, the twins carried their little mate into the bedroom, closed the curtains and strengthened the wards before stripping Legolas and descending upon him with ravenous desire. And as their little elf arched in shocked pleasure under the hands and mouths and cocks of his devils, the wards flared and sizzled as if a bug had hit a powerful, muggle insect-repelling light.

From the direction of the royal talan, the Lady's latest shriek echoed throughout the settlement. This time it had a different tone, as if she were somehow in pain. By this time, however, none of the unwilling victims of her piercing wails and screams was willing to even consider checking on the spoiled elleth. Let Celeborn do it.

As for Celeborn, he was standing open-mouthed, staring at Galadriel, who, just as he entered her room to begin to question her about her dealing with Thranduillion, had suddenly shrieked and tried to leap from the bed as a hand-print slapped her on the bright-red, bared skin of her delectable ass – and sizzled.

Folding his arms and leaning back to watch, Celeborn cocked his head and contemplated. It would seem that his lady-wife had been caught peeking again. He was startled into shocked, hearty laughter when the distinctive, albeit husky and slightly panting, voice of one of the Demons spoke from everywhere and nowhere in the room.

"Since you're punishing her for peeking where she isn't wanted, Celeborn, we decided if we caught her at it we'd just give you a hand."

Galadriel just uttered an exhausted whimper. Lesson learned?


	9. Ch9 By the Valar

**A/N:** Here it is. Thank you all for your patience (and **Pikachumomma**, for your understanding); your support during the drama, trauma and tragedies of my RL was incredible, and I am so very grateful. I wish I could reply to each and every one of you, but I'm just not that good. Because you were all so patient with my long-winded A/Ns, I'll keep this one short.

Happy Reading, and Blessed Be!

WyrdSmith

ooooooooooooooooooo

**CONEFLOWERS**

Haldir could not keep himself from smiling as he walked through the familiar pathways of Lothlorien with his truemate dancing beside him. Ithilwen was nearly bubbling with interest in all she encountered. Every plant that caught her eye was touched and smelled and chatted with and, twice, even tasted. Watching the pink, agile tongue of his wicked little mate dip into the tip of a red coneflower while Ithilwen's sparkling eyes peeked up at him through long, sultry lashes had nearly caused the Marchwarden to throw his little temptress over his shoulder and scale the nearest tree for immediate satisfaction of the reaction she had knowingly provoked. Only the lilting laughter of the curious residents of Lothlorien who had observed from a distance stopped him, but just barely. The promise of retaliation lay dark in Haldir's eyes when he wrapped a strong arm around the tiny waist and hauled his delightful mate to stand pressed against his chest, luminous blue eyes laughing into his own as the irrepressible woman wiggled and slid teasingly against the solid proof of her successful seduction that lay heavy and throbbing between them. He watched her eyes grow heavy-lidded as her actions against his vaunted control began to work against her. Fixing his gaze on the lips that delighted and tormented him in equal measure, he slowly leaned down and watched them part in anticipation. At the last moment, he moved slightly to the side, rubbing his cheek against hers as he placed his lips against the ear that peaked through the moonbeam hair, murmuring, "Remember this the next time you chose to tease me in public, my love." Quickly nipping her ear, he then spun her away, back into the flowers that had begun this little challenge, and strolled onward down the path, arms crossed behind him and a smug smile on his face as he heard his delicate beauty swear like a professional soldier as she landed on her rump amidst the multi-colored blooms.

Musical laughter from many observers, hidden and not, echoed throughout this part of the garden as the residents of Lothlorien enjoyed another episode in their newest and most favorite past time. Each of the newcomers was fascinating to observe, but it was always the reactions of the elves closest to them that were most entertaining. Stern, sardonic Haldir had become lighter and brighter with the bonding to the mercurial Ithilwen. Weary Glorfindel shone with wonder now that the incomparable Marcaunon shared his light and life. Little Legolas has begun to open like a flower beneath the warmth of his Eredhion and Sidhenidon. Even the dwarf Gimli, who many remembered from the time the Fellowship had stumbled into their midst, was less burdened and often wore the smile his face seemed best crafted for. The arrival of the amber-eyed wolven Istari Remus and the smoke-eyed prankster Sirius had delighted all who met them with their warmth and vitality. Even the owl Hedwig was a wonder to the residents of the Golden Woods. She had taken a particular liking to their own Lord Celeborn, who was often seen in the company of the newcomers and their mates, walking in his dignified fashion with the glowing white owl perched upon his shoulder.

Life had begun anew for the Eldar race. It was a joy to live again.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**BOND INVERSION**

Legolas drifted in a sea of warmth and contentment. The truemate bond with Eredhion and Sidhenidon had roared to life during the last hours of the night, bursting forth along with the mind-melting rush of what felt like endless moments of ecstasy that were the culmination of long hours of pleasure his mates had wrung from him after bringing him to their talan. Their bonding had been so protracted, so exquisite, so torturous, that even now his mind could barely accept all that his body had undergone as his devilish mates had turned the full force of their creativity upon their captive elf.

Stretching slightly, he winced in sudden reaction as he became aware of his spine in a way he was not enjoying. He experienced only a few moments of the pain, however, before a soothing hand was placed on his spine and something was murmured softly in Eredhion's distinctive voice. A gentle warmth sank into the pain and eased it to nothing. Color flooded Legolas' face as the hand then moved to settle on his buttocks, gently parting them slightly as another healing spell was sent to sooth the much-abused passage. Although he greatly appreciated the removal of the soreness he had been willfully ignoring, Legolas could not help but bury his hot face into his pillow in mortification.

His pillow chuckled, and warm arms wrapped around his naked back to rub soothing circles with Sidhenidon's large, strong hands. Legolas tried to dig deeper into the warm skin of Sidhenidon's chest, scowling in embarrassment when Eredhion patted him teasingly on the butt before letting his own large hand begin to rub the naked skin that sheltered the area he had just healed. Working very hard to concentrate on being mortified rather than aroused, Legolas tried to wiggle away from the hand on his butt – an action that prompted a very different reaction than the one he had been going for. Rather than taking the hint and allowing Legolas his mortification, his twins seemed to take his resistance as a challenge. Legolas had just enough time to feel the flood of dominance rush at him from both sides of the bond before he found himself hoisted full-length atop a now prone and erect Sidhenidon, staring shocked into gleaming sapphire eyes and unable to move away from the sudden warmth of Eredhion stretched along his back. The transition had been so sudden that Legolas had to take a moment or two to let his mind catch up. When it did, and he fully realized the position he was in, he defiantly forced down his instinctive submission and stared boldly down at Sidhenidon and said wryly, "I suspect this is what Gimli meant when he said I would soon be the creamy filling in a Devil Sandwich."

He was rewarded as humor began to replace the glare of dominance in Sidhenidon's heated gaze. Wicked hands drifted down Legolas' naked sides, exciting shivers and sensitive flinches in the elf atop him. Looking past Legolas at the face of his twin, who still wore a look of pure challenge as he pressed down upon their rebellious elf, Sidhenidon grinned darkly and waited to see how Legolas would react.

Legolas drew a sharp breath, then tentatively pushed back against the engorged cock that was suddenly pressing between his cheeks. Glancing back at Eredhion, he said somewhat breathlessly, "You realize this makes your motivation in healing me somewhat suspect now, don't you?" Eredhion simply dropped his head to whisper harshly in the leaf-shaped ear, "In serving you, we do but serve ourselves, little one." His haze of dominance cracked and shattered as Legolas immediately retorted, "Ha! 'you do but serve yourselves, little one', indeed! More like, you do serve yourselves one little butt."

Eredhion's incredulous eyes met Sidhenidon's sparkling blue before the twins collapsed around their elf in delighted laughter. It would seem all it took to bring out Legolas' inner-smartass was a long night of incredible sexual pleasure.

That was doable.

Legolas, still smiling smugly, was trying to use their distraction to extract himself from between his snickering mates. Considering the fact that he had only managed to rub himself against them, top and bottom, and excite them all further, he was of two minds about the nature of progress. When Eredhion, still smiling widely, suddenly parted Legolas' buttocks and guided himself fully into the still-loosened passage, he used his beloved's shocked silence to growl heatedly against the silken shoulder, "You cannot possibly believe you're going anywhere, my mate." Legolas' moaning whimper was answer enough, as Eredhion ground his hips against the rounded cheeks and, pulling back slightly, began to thrust steadily into his responsive mate.

Once again, Legolas found himself the sole focus of the erotic attentions of his fiery mates; but whereas last night had been all about skill and seduction and protracted pleasure, this morning was about pure, primal pleasure. Every time Eredhion's rigid length plunged back into him, Legolas felt the dizzying shock of pleasure that meant his mate was ruthlessly hitting the bundle of nerves within his body that the twins had awakened him to last night. With every plunge, Legolas' body was pushed firmly into and rubbed along Sidhenidon, who was gripping his hips and thrusting upward in counter-rhythm to his twin. Legolas' rigid cock was now leaking copiously and rubbing torturously against Sidhenidon's with every one of the alternating thrusts from above and below. Sidhenidon's huge hand wrapped firmly around their cocks, holding them together and allowing the slick slide of bodies and the thrusting rhythms to carry them together to orgasm. Legolas' hands were pressed against Sidhenidon's strong shoulders, gripping tightly in an effort to somehow ground himself as his breathing turned to gasping and his vision whited out. The bond between the three was overwhelming him, as he received a building rush of sensation from both sides of the bond, with him caught in the middle and trying to process his own pending orgasm.

With a final, hard snap of hips from Eredhion and a last, decisive, twisting tug from Sidhenidon, Legolas surrendered to the agonizing pleasure. Pressing his head back into Eredhion's sweaty chest, Legolas closed his eyes and screamed as his own orgasm doubled and then trebled through the effects of the bond. He felt Eredhion's hand wrap around his forehead, supporting him as he arced into pained spasms of ecstasy, sobbing in despair as their bodies continued to shudder and tremor together. Finally, the torrent began to ebb, leaving the three newly-bonded lying wrapped around each other, shocked and shaken.

George and Fred stared into each other's eyes, understanding that they were both somewhat frightened by the intensity of what just happened and deeply worried for their beautiful, devastated little mate. There had been so much sensation! It was too much. Even for them, on the ends of the bond, they had caught backlash from the other two that had turned the pleasure into nearly-pain. For Legolas, trapped in the middle of the bond, it had become, literally, an agony of ecstasy. This must not happen again. It must not. And yet, the rush to dominance had been overwhelming when Legolas had challenged them, even though his actions had been minimal, merely teasing. It was as if neither twin could counter the sudden surge of purely primal emotion that seized them and sent them into the dominance display that had resulted in their beloved little mate lying in their arms, sweaty and covered in their essences, with tears rolling from tightly squeezed eyes as his breath came in gasping, broken sobs. Even as they clung together in distress, their bodies continued to spasm in discordant bursts of leftover pleasure.

It was terrifying.

As the two devils tried to comfort and sooth Legolas, they felt an implacable presence glide among them. The need to protect Legolas was all-encompassing, but the Presence allowed them no action. They were helpless and afraid as they, and Legolas, were overwhelmed by Power and fell deeply asleep, to lie tangled and vulnerable on the rumpled bedding.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**NEW DYNAMICS**

Seated together in Celeborn's airy, main living space, Marcaunon reclined against Glorfindel's broad chest and accepted a sip from his herven's glass. Ever since that first night, when Marcaunon had offered Glory some of the crisp, citrus-flavored soda water, Glorfindel had chosen it at every opportunity. Celeborn seemed to like it, too, as his look of appreciation showed each time he took a sip from his own, icy glass.

Celeborn was seated across from them, leaning comfortably back in a large, woven chair with one long leg extended and propped on the center table. The three had taken this time to simply visit together, allowing the two, old friends to visit and letting this new dynamic settle into place. Ithilwen and Haldir were off walking somewhere, and no one had seen Legolas or the twins yet this morning. Remus and Sirius were off visiting with Gimli and Taorin. It was a quiet morning, made the more so by the Lady Galadriel's exhausted sleep.

Celeborn had just finished a lighthearted account of the payback rendered upon his Lady's posterior by the twins. Glorfindel and Marcaunon joined him in his laughter, amused that the Lady had further been tormented by the sensual waves that had pulsed through the handprint as the Bonding of the three commenced. She had apparently been reduced to begging Celeborn for his attentions, which he had refused. He had made it very clear to her many times that he would never share the pleasures of the body with her if her arousal was due to spying on the carnal activities of others, and last night most certainly qualified. He had also prevented her from easing her own distress, although he did not go into detail on his methods and they did not ask. It was sufficient to know that the Lady had, indeed, suffered.

Marcaunon felt deep compassion and respect for Celeborn. The Eldar Lord was everything one of his race and status should be: dignified, kind, stern, wise, strong, gentle and in every way a wonderful person to know. His bond as truemate to the Lady Galadriel seemed more a punishment to the Elven Lord, as by all accounts his Lady had long ago abandoned all efforts at wise and beneficent rule and had instead indulged her whims and childishness and played with the lives and deaths of everyone around her. Only Celeborn's unwavering attention had prevented wholescale disaster from erupting out of the Lady's machinations. Marcaunon could have compared her to the unlamented Dumbledore, except that even as he had confronted her, all of his senses told him that the Lady was truly not evil. She was still somehow pure, as only an elf can be. But she was morally as if still a child, despite her vast age. She had no more wish to do right or wrong than the average, self-motivated five-year-old of any race.

Celeborn had just met Marcaunon's compassionate gaze and had begun to smile in gentle acknowledgment of the young man's insight when a violent sense of alarm slammed into all three males and sent them to their feet. Celeborn felt the wards of Lothlorien vibrate in a clash of chords he had heard only once before – when Glorfindel had returned to life. He had no more time to think, before Marcaunon summoned their weapons to the two elves and then seized them both before apparating from the room with a sharp crack.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**WE MEET AGAIN**

Appearing together in the bedroom of an unknown talan, it only took the two experienced elves moments to assess the situation. They saw the unconscious, naked figures of Eredhion and Sidhenidon huddled protectively over Legolas, and registered the fact that two, unknown elves were standing over the three with their hands extended. In the barest moments that it took for Celeborn and Glorfindel to see the threat and raise their swords, Demon had already launched a ferocious magical attack and was halfway across the room with his sword flashing. A second later, and the two elves were at his side, and reaching for the blood of the two who threatened their family.

Another second saw the three standing across the room, disarmed, silenced and gently confined by magical bonds that were invisible even to Elven eyes. The two figures standing over the bed had not moved. Demon had been forced to retreat, and so Glorfindel felt Marcaunon's panic through their bond. He would have most likely mirrored it, but he began to feel …. something …. familiar. With the limited movement the gentle magical bonds allowed, he looked over at Celeborn, and saw a similar recognition on the Lord's face. Celeborn turned to meet his gaze, and made the sign for 'prayer' with his elegant hands. And then, Glorfindel remembered.

Dying… meeting people who were so much more than simply Elves … long discussions about life and fate and the needs of the world … a rush of purest Power moving through him … so much light … and awaking again, alive, naked, staring at the sea as it foamed around his body as he lay on the beach of fine, white sand …

Turning wondering eyes to the two figures at the bed, Glorfindel reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Marcaunon. Once again, he turned, this time to capture his mate's gaze and demand that the young man use his mental abilities to see into Glorfindel's mind. As he felt Marcaunon's immediately compliance and the careful touch that told him Marcaunon was there, he showed his memories and then left a single word echoing through his mind.

"Valar."

Marcaunon's presence retreated from his mind after a burst of understanding, and immediately glared worriedly at the two Valar who remained motionless by his defenseless family. 'NO!' he thought fiercely. 'They are NOT defenseless! They have me! They have us.' He knew without doubt that Glorfindel, regardless of his reverence for these beings (and Harry's own, it was true), would join him without question if he had to defend his family from their attentions. Glancing at Celeborn, he read both wonder and concern in the beautiful eyes, and also saw a dawning determination as the Lord's jaw firmed and a hard look was sent his way. With a slight nod, Celeborn joined their efforts, should they be needed. For now, the three could only wait, and watch, and assess.

Glorfindel's hand slid from Marcaunon's shoulder to clasp his mate's hand firmly. He was pleased to see Marcaunon extend his other hand to Celeborn, who glanced at it in surprise and then looked to Glorfindel in question. At his old friend's nod, Celeborn accepted Marcaunon's hand, and the three stood united, sharing comfort for now but prepared to link their abilities and attack if needed.

Thank the Valar, it would not be needed. And in this case, truer words were never spoken.

With a shared breath, the two motionless figures by the bed relaxed, dropping their hands and turning together to face the three defenders. The one on the far side of the bed, a female, waved her hand and warm blankets covered the slowly-relaxing forms of the twins and Legolas. The other, a male, released Glorfindel, Marcaunon and Celeborn from their confinement and said simply, "Peace. Your family needed us, else they would have been lost. It was partly our fault that such occurred. It was our duty and our pleasure to act."

Celeborn and Glorfindel dropped their heads in respect, bowing slightly as they released Marcaunon's hands. A lesser elf may have thrown themselves prone to the floor, but such a person would never have become an Ancient Elven Lord of a powerful Realm, nor been so treasured in life as to have been returned to the life he had left through honorable death. Thus, the two elders simply offered their reverence and left it at that.

Marcaunon's reaction was more surprising. He stared piercingly at the two Valar, unafraid of their immense power, and silently commanded them to meet his eyes. When they did, a fact which further surprised Glorfindel and Celeborn, silence feel heavily in the room for a few moments, before Marcaunon blinked and the tension drained away. Raising a shaking hand to his head, Marcunon then said unsteadily, "Thank you. Will you explain?" He glanced at his family in concern, and was greatly reassured at the relaxed breaths and comfortable arrangement of the three in the bed.

Celeborn watched the young Istari with his respect growing exponentially. This impossible young man stood unfazed in the presence of gods, and dared to suppose that they would be willing to explain themselves and their actions! He could clearly see that Marcaunon did not do so out of arrogance or pride; the young Istari truly felt that his behavior was normal and reasonable. He shook his head in awe as the Valar smiled at the raven-haired man and simply nodded in unison. He started a bit as a long, graceful bench appeared behind him, extending behind his companions as well. The Valar simply seated themselves at the foot of the bed, a sight that both Elves found equally shocking and comforting. It seemed that, in the presence of Marcaunon, even the gods became approachable.

The male god snorted slightly and glanced smilingly at him, as if he had heard his thoughts and found them amusing. Accustomed to this behavior from Galadriel, Celeborn instinctively recoiled and hardened his shields. The look of sorrow in the god's eyes confused him. Was he offended?

To this thought, the god said, "No, Celeborn. I am not offended that you try to guard your thoughts from me. I am saddened, that you have been trained to such an instinctive reaction by Galadriel's behavior. Such was never desired for you, and I hold deep regret. This, too, needs to be addressed."

"But first," the female continued, "we must explain what happened here today. When we brought these three together, it was not the first triadic truemate bond we have joined. Still, all others, few though they were, consisted of three Elves, and, in two cases in another world, two Elves and one Istari. We did not take into account the sheer, magical power that would be running through the bond, this time from the outside in to the center, where Legolas resides. The others placed the Istari in the center, with her power running outward to her mates."

The three listening began to realize what must have happened to Legolas and the twins. Celeborn's hushed whisper was husky with horror as he said, "It would have been as if Legolas stood at the apex of two rivers rushing from twin mountains. He could have been crushed! He could have drowned!"

Marcaunon's eyes were wide with pain as he gripped Glorfindel's hand and said harshly, "What happened?" Glorfindel, returning the strength of Marcaunon's grip with his own, simply watched closely, hazel eyes hard. His words were not needed.

The goddess sighed mournfully and admitted, "It was as you imagine. We intervened just in time to prevent disaster and put a halt to the cause." Seeing the rage forming upon the three faces, she hurriedly added, "NOT to the bond. We ended the conflict."

"How?" This time, Glorfindel spoke. His jaw was tightly clenched as he glared at the Valar, a thing he would never have imagined himself doing before this moment. The only way to ease the rush of power to the center – Legolas - would be to ease the amount of power. Had the Valar stolen some of the twins magic from them?

The god and goddess exchanged long looks, communicating silently, before the god turned to gaze upon the three with eyes that showed he had accepted his actions and was content with his choice. "We could have done as you suspect. It was our first thought. But we had no wish to take more from these children, nor would such an action have benefited the coming events of this world. To keep to your analogy, we could have lowered the mountains to ease the harm to the valley between, but we did not."

"Instead, we raised the valley, and made a new mountain."

The goddesses words dropped quietly into the room, but by the shock from their impact, she could have flung them down like boulders. The Elven Lord, the Warrior Elf, and the Warrior Istari froze, completely, utterly stunned by the sheer import of what the Valar had done.

The twins were the mountains. Legolas was the valley between.

The Valar had made of the valley another mountain.

They made Legolas a mountain.

The mountains are the Istari.

They made Legolas an Istari.

Later, Glorfindel and Celeborn would laugh as they recalled the delighted amusement on the almost-faces of the Valar at Harry's explosive exhale and long, drawn-out, "Fuuuuccck meee!" It would be much later, though. For now, the two were still struggling to grasp the fact that Legolas Greenleaf, second heir to the Lord of Lothlorien, was the first Elven Istari. Ever.

Celeborn raised an unsteady hand and ran it through his long hair, saying with finely-honed sarcasm, "It occurs to me that Thranduillion and Galadriels' opinions that Legolas is boring becomes exponentially less correct with each passing day." Left unspoken was the heartfelt relief that Legolas had abdicated his role as Thranduillion's heir and accepted his place in Celeborn's family before this latest event. The young elf would never have believed Celeborn's sincerity in the offer had he waited even a day. The thought of Thranduillion's use of the young new Istari had Legolas remained the King's son made Celeborn shudder, and cast a speculative eye at the Valar.

To his unspoken question, the goddess seemed to smile. "No, Lord Celeborn. Your welcome of Legolas into your family and your heart was entirely your own wisdom and was not influenced by us. That you wrote your intentions regarding Eredhion and Sidhenidon into your journals just this morning is further testament to your good heart and careful rule. We were unaware of the ramifications of our inattention to detail until last night's bonding of these three. The event of this morning forced our immediate action. You may know in your heart, and tell your new heirs, that your decision was made solely on the basis of Legolas himself, and had nothing at all to do with his new abilities."

Marcaunon spoke as if to himself, "We must train him immediately to control the magic. Most human wizards begin to learn at age eleven; Legolas is … what? …. two millennia old? Three? How can we even begin to train him without his resisting it?" He turned blazing, green eyes upon the Valar, and the god found himself resisting the urge to flinch. "You owe him more than just Power. You owe him control, and instinctive understanding. There's much we can teach, but he is well past the age for a person from any race to be expected to fumble after his magic like a baby learning to use a spoon!"

The goddess was taken aback. "Surely you do not truly expect further gifts from us?" She recoiled at the rage Marcaunon turned upon her.

"Gifts? You call these gifts? The only gifts you have given my family and me are our soul mates, and they are gifts beyond imagining in their scope and place in our lives. The fact that you couldn't even do that right without endangering one of the soulmates and both my brothers is a bit of a negative for you, don't you think?" His sarcasm sliced deep, and the glaring agreement of Glorfindel and Celeborn deepened the wound.

"But, Lady, if you are implying that ripping my siblings and I from one world that we had just managed to save from magical holocaust with barely a span of days to plan before dropping us into another world that hovers on the edge of its own Armageddon, then allowing your own conceit to keep you from little details like, oh, let's see, will our one worthwhile gift to these people **KILL THE INNOCENT elf who** bonded with my brothers, thus killing them, thus assuredly causing a horrific cascade of events that would have decimated us all and probably ruined the hopes of the Bright Races to survive Sauron's forces, then you have a greatly **exaggerated sense of your own bloody SELF IMPORTANCE!**" By this point, Marcaunon was on his feet and practically towering over the goddess, who was leaning away slightly from the force of his anger. She looked to the god and was unsurprised that he gazed back at her with reprimand written clearly across the face that only she could see. It seemed that the flaw in the nature of her godhood had emerged again. She sighed in regret, and turned back to look coolly upon the three, angry males who glared at her. Distantly, she wondered how she had lived so long as to find herself in a time when lesser beings dared confront her in such a manner. She knew, however, that the god would say this was a good sign, and that she would agree – later.

"Enough," the god quietly spoke. "You are correct, Marcaunon. In all that you have said, you are correct. We agree to give Legolas instinctive control and understanding of his abilities. I believe that this may be the course of wisdom, anyway. It seems to me that much harm has come to those who had no control over their powers, in many ways. Further, on your world as on others, the learning institutions that should have been dedicated to training the young became places to recruit or conscript them, instead. Perhaps, as these abilities grow on this world, the nature of Elves will give greater balance to this new power, and the inherent understanding of this power will lead to wisdom in its use." With that, the Valar turned as one to face Legolas, each extending their right arm, hands cupping over the sleeping form as the channels were opened within his mind that would allow Legolas to control, understand and use the magic he had been given. Within moments, it was done, and the Valar turned back to face the three watchers. They smiled at what they saw.

Both Glorfindel and Celeborn had moved supportively to Marcaunon. Glorfindel had the young Istari pressed to his chest, one arm around the slim waist. Celeborn stood slightly in front of the two, facing the Valar, as if he were willingly placing himself between the two he protected and the gods themselves. It was a telling posture, and showed the Valar that their next decision was the correct one to make on behalf of the Elven Lord who had endured an untenable situation for far too long.

Celeborn froze as the attention of the Valar focused upon him. He was not blind to what his position meant, and he was fine with that. His concern was not for himself, but for his world. It must have shown in his thoughts or his face, as the god asked softly, "What troubles you, child?" The simple compassion in the indescribable voice brought tears to the Lord's throat, and he had to clench his jaw for a moment before he could speak. He stared at the small figure of Legolas on the bed, desperately worried for the gentle elf. For his sake, he had to speak. Raising his eyes to the god, having an instinctive desire to avoid the goddess, he said quietly, "Galadriel has great power. She has tremendous control. She has always understood her abilities. She is an elf, one of the Eldar, in fact." The god had simply nodded at each point, understanding now where this was leading. Celeborn swallowed, then spoke the words that would condemn him as the betrayer of his truemate. "She does great evil, and as long as it is amusing, she does not care."

The silence in the room was profound, and he felt it showed that the Valar, Marcaunon and Glorfindel condemned him for his words. He was overwhelmed when Marcaunon and Glorfindel appeared to either shoulder, each wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing against him in warm support. Blinking tears back as his soul wailed at his agonized conscience, he accepted, just this once, the comfort that was offered and leaned back against the two with a nearly-silent, trembling sigh. Keeping his eyes on the floor, he awaited the judgment of the Valar. In betraying his truemate, he had done the unthinkable.

It was with bewilderment that he heard the words of the goddess, uttered not in the ringing tones of condemnation he had expected, but softly and with sorrowful compassion – for him. "Celeborn, you most of all have been wronged by we the Valar. All these thousands upon thousands of years, you have been faithful and true and loving to your truemate, serving your people with all honor and love and wisdom as well. You have balanced the needs of your people and the excesses of your truemate and have never asked to be relieved of either duty. Even now, faced with the truth of the nature of Galadriel, you choose the needs of another over yourself, and expect to be cast down for it. Celeborn, I am so sorry to have burdened you so."

He shook his head in incomprehension, lost to the goddess's meaning. She spoke as if this was her guilt, not his own. He did not understand. Breathing heavily, he looked to the god – and was wrapped in the strength of the god's love and pride in him. If not for Marcaunon and Glorfindel, who held him securely upright despite their own confusion, he would have stumbled beneath the weight of the god's regard.

"Celeborn, it is time we balance this scale as well. To do so, I must explain something that we had hoped you would never need to know." He hesitated a moment, then looked at Glorfindel and said firmly, "Glorfindel, my favored soul, I charge you with the sharing of the truths I am to utter. I will not allow the actions we took, and those we will take, to further burden Celeborn. It is past time he is allowed to enjoy the treasures of life that he ensures his people enjoy." He waited for Glorfindel's slow nod before he turned back to Celeborn. He spoke simply, in quiet tones that made his revelations that much more incredible. "Because of Galadriel's abuse of power, you are worried that the Elven nature will corrupt any elf who has magical power. But the truth, Celeborn, is that Galadriel is not a full elf."

The three males simply stared at him. His words made no sense. Galadriel, the Lady of the Woods, the personification of what it meant to be a royal elleth – was not a full elf? What?

The god smiled sadly at them and quietly continued. "Galadriel is half-Elven … and half-Valar." Their shocked expressions were not unexpected. Poor Celeborn looked as if he had been told that the world was ending at daybreak. For him, it may well be; his world, as he knew it, was certainly shattering.

"Galadriel is my daughter." This came from the goddess, whispered into the room as if voicing the words aloud for the first time. The look on her face, if only they could have seen it, was one of deepest sorrow. "She is my daughter, and her father was Noldoran, known to many as Finwe, High King of the Noldor. I will not share the reasons for our union, just that it occurred, and that Galadriel is the result. I should have kept her with me. I knew that my godhood would seep into her nature, and that her own aspects as a half-Valar would limit her understanding of mortals, and even of the ancient Eldar race. But she has such joy in the natural world! In the Shadow Lands and Valinor, there is less to keep her interest, and despite her abilities, she is not given to cerebral pursuits. I wanted her happy – so I convinced the Valar to allow her a life among mortals. Her first millennia or two were so successful that I believed it could continue. I chose to allow her to play with lives as an elfling does with toys. And I used you, Celeborn. I chained you to her through a bond you did not deserve, and yet you never waivered once."

Celeborn was nearly catatonic. He heard the words and understood, but how could he possibly _comprehend_ this? His entire life, so many thousands upon thousands of years, spent trying to honor a truemate bond – with who? Was Galadriel even his truemate? Was that why he had never felt the joy in their connection that the few other truemates he knew seemed to share? It had been so long since the last truemates he knew had gone to Valinor that he had managed to forget the lack he found in his own, until the arrival of Marcaunon and his family. The changes in Glorfindel and Haldir had stunned him; they were alight with the joy they felt …. a joy that he, Celeborn, had not truly felt even once. What did this mean? "What does this _mean_?" His pained voice shocked him. He had not meant to speak. He barely even recalled that he could.

Glorfindel and Marcaunon wrapped him even tighter, pressing into him, holding him, supporting him with all they could possibly offer. He felt their furious glares burning into the goddess, and warmth began to wake him up again …. warmth in his soul, for their friendship, for their caring.

The god allowed them their rage, accepting their glares at his companion, willing to accept them at himself. It was true that Valar were omnipotent, but they were not omniscient. They knew much – so very, very much – but even they were susceptible to the needs of their hearts. And, although some gods and goddesses had no compassion or regret, the Valar were of a different ilk. These mortals deserved their answers, and, like the others come of late to their attention from this extraordinary group, it was time for Celeborn, too-long held prisoner to the whims of the gods, to be released from his torment and given a gift.

"It means, Celeborn, that you are free. Your suspicions are correct. The truemate bond you shared with Galadriel was false; laid upon you by the goddess in an effort to win happiness for her daughter. I will say she did not mean you any harm, nor did she pick you lightly for this duty. Your soul proved to be the one that would have truemated Galadriel had she been fully Elven. It is why the bond could be laid upon you. But you never felt the joy of the bond, as was your right. Instead, you felt only the burden. And yet, despite the fact that the one you believed was your truemate was such a terrible trial to you and your people, you protected both, sometimes from each other, and you never waivered in your honor and your fealty to Galadriel." He saw Celeborn's brow draw heavy and his eyes darken, and held up a slightly-glowing hand to halt the confession before it began. "Do not consider the occasional lovers you took as comfort – so few over so many thousands of years, Celeborn! – to be betrayals or weaknesses. They were necessary, or you would have fallen to the despair that sometimes tried to take you down. Without those lovers, all would have been lost long ago. You did not betray Galadriel; you know full well the sport she made of far too many, in her bed and in worse ways. You have no stains on your soul, Celeborn, and I will not allow you to believe that you do." The force of Truth rang in his voice, and that small part of the Elven Lord's soul was eased.

"What happens now? What do I do now?" Celeborn could not help the plaintive tone in his voice. He had never even allowed himself to truly consider a life without Galadriel. The closest he had come was at dinner yesterday, watching Marcaunon's newly-arrived fathers and enjoying the life that sparkled around the garden simply from these six, wonderful new people. With a small smile, he added Hedwig. Surely, she was a person, too, albeit a feathered one.

None of the three were prepared for the joy that showed in the auras of the Valar as they answered him, the goddess speaking first. "Now, Celeborn, we fix this mess, and you get the gift you should have had all along! Galadriel is already home; the false bond is gone. Your near-catatonia a few moments ago was when I severed the bond I laid upon you. That you did not notice – says so much. I will grieve in private for the harm I have done you, but for now I take joy in telling you that my daughter is home and you and your people are free. She will not meddle again."

Celeborn could not help himself; the habit of the ages strong in his character. "Will she be all right? Will she be safe, and happy?"

The goddess's expression softened, or seemed to, and the eyes they could not see gazed at him with love and gratitude. "Your duty to her is done, child. But yes, she will be safe, and eventually, she will be happy. In truth, she has not been happy since her youth in this world; all else has been simple entertainment." The words seemed cold, but the voice was far from it.

"Now, my favored soul, you have a choice to make," the god said seriously. Celeborn and the others focused intently on him. "You may remain free and unencumbered, allowed to enjoy all of the variety that will be offered to you as an unmarried, unmated Elven Lord." There was clearly an unspoken consequence to this choice, one that seemed to involve Marcaunon as the god's attention flickered briefly to the young man still pressed to Celeborn's back. Celeborn said gravely, "If it is to be heard, I would hear it all, as will Marcaunon and Glorfindel. I am weary of godly secrets."

Surprisingly, the bold words won a smile of approval from the god, and even the goddess seemed to glow a little at this further proof of Celeborn's strong character. The god's next words were unexpected, although not as shocking as may have been had they not already weathered a day of unparalleled revelations. "Your truemate, the real one, the only one with whom you will ever experience the joy of the bond like your companions, and these three," gesturing behind him to the deeply-sleeping figures on the bed, "is within Lothlorien. If you wish to remain free, Celeborn, you must send that one away."

Silence, as Celeborn, Glorfindel and Marcaunon considered. It didn't take any of them long; the glance toward Marcaunon had revealed much. Celeborn's actual truemate was associated with Marcaunon, and the only unmated people who could fit those parameters were Remus or Sirius. At Marcaunon's harshly indrawn breath, both Celeborn and Glorfindel reached comforting arms to the young man. There was zero chance that Celeborn would voluntarily bring even one more moment of loss to that young man or his family. His choice was already made.

Besides, a chance at rampant dalliance was nothing like what Celeborn yearned for from life. He had just spent several thousands of years in a relationship that had managed to remain shallow and unfulfilling despite the gease of a soulbond made by the _gods_. He was not an elf who wished for variety of bedpartners; he wanted only one lover in his life, so long as that person and he shared the deeply loving, joyful, lifechanging bond that seemed to be ready and waiting for him – finally.

He did not even need to speak; his decision was clear, as was his contentment with his choice. Marcaunon would have no need for guilt; this was no sacrifice at all. The Valar simply nodded in unison and raised their arms in benediction. The goddess cast a last glance at the sleeping forms on the bed, and faded out of the room and their world. The god remained behind a moment more, seeming to gaze with deep love and joy at the six people in the room. As he, too, faded, his whispered words hung in the air like the blessing they were, "Live happy, my children. I will watch over your progeny. Your numerous, remarkable progeny."

oooooooooooooooooooo

**WAKING**

Alone in their bedroom, Sidhenidon and Eredhion watched with worry as Legolas stirred in his sleep, moaning slightly as he shifted. They had awakened to Marcaunon, who had stayed only long enough to drop a kiss on each forehead, lingering over Legolas, and to tell them that the dream they had shared was not a dream. It had really happened. They had no idea why Marcaunon knew about, but presumed the Valar had summoned him when they elevated Legolas. Or possibly, it was simply their incomparable brother, whose instinct for the welfare of his family was unrivalled.

Their orders were to stay in the talan and rest; to care for Legolas and call for any help they needed or anything they wanted. After threatening to bind them into their home if they didn't agree (and even with all three of them being bonded Istari, they still could not have defeated a determined Marcaunon), he accepted their promise and joined the smirking Glorfindel, who had watched from the bedroom doorway while keeping an eye on someone who was apparently in their front room. They had heard the door close and felt the gentle vibrations of three sets of feet crossing the porch and descending the stairs, before focusing all of their wonder and attention on their little elf.

They had been completely terrified when they lost consciousness, knowing that Legolas was in torment and that powerful invaders had entered their home. Even in the dreamworld, they had attacked the two figures that appeared to them, desperately keeping Legolas sheltered between them. The fact that their elf had remained unconscious even in the dreamscape had nearly undone them entirely. Only when the male dropped to the floor …. the ground … well, the bottom of the dreamscape and sent a pulse through his hand to Legolas, completely bypassing the twins' defenses, had Legolas stopped moaning and begun to relax slightly from the pained seizure that had gripped him. That had caused the twins to re-evaluate, which gave the invaders time to talk, which gave the twins time to recognize them as the two who had first shown them Legolas during the imprinting ….

When the twins fully understood the ramifications of what the inverted power structure of their bond was doing to Legolas, they were ready to suicide, but would not do so because that, too, would have harmed their mate. The Valars' solution, to make Legolas the very first Elven Istari, had seemed like … well…. like a godsend. They would gladly have accepted a reduction in their powers; would have agreed to become squibs, or elves, or trolls – _anything_ to save their little elf and prevent further pain to the gentle soul that owned them so completely. To have the gods raise Legolas up, rather than knocking them down, had been overwhelming.

Now, they just had to wait to see how Legolas received the news. Would he be excited? Furious? Terrified? Ecstatic? The answer to all of those questions was an emphatic affirmative. He would be all of that and more, at first. Hell, _they_ were all of that and more. But the possibilities…! And, frankly, the idea of the fun they could have and havoc they could wreak with Legolas having powers too was enough to keep them grinning madly. Glancing at each other, they abruptly removed the crazed grins and focused again on their mate. It wouldn't do for his first sight upon waking to be them grinning like they were nutters.

Although, Legolas might pop a crazy grin or two himself, when he got to the part where they figured out the best way to give Thranduillion the news.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**1 OR 2, EITHER/OR, WHICH ONE AM I FATED FOR?**

Stepping off the stairs to the Devils' talan, Celeborn walked between Marcaunon and Glorfindel, who had refused to leave his side or to allow him to leave theirs. There was much to do. His people had to be informed. Galadriel's absence had to have been noticed by now; her staff was quite attentive due to her erratic ways. Oh, Blessed Night, he had to inform her staff! What to do with her things? Had they even remained? He had to check, but did not truly want to enter their talan and see her absence for himself. Not alone. Huh, he was alone. He knew she was gone; the bond was not there, gripping his spine like … well, like a vicious wife. The wards of Lothlorien told him she was not there. His soul told him she was not there. The Valar told him she was not there.

"Celeborn, she's not there." He simply nodded at the seamless continuation of his thoughts, then looked askance at Glorfindel. His golden-haired friend grinned sideways at him, wrapping a strong arm around his back as they walked. On his other side, Marcaunon held Celeborn's hand, quietly supportive, showing Celeborn even more of the remarkable nature that won this young man the intense loyalty of so many, including two hundred of Celeborn's own warriors … and, truth be known, Celeborn himself.

Pulling his friend into a one-armed hug, Glorfindel relaxed his arm to allow Celeborn to keep walking but did not release his oldest friend. He knew full well that his friend was nearly panicking. How could he not be? Given even an enth of the same situation, the average person would panic. Fortunately, Celeborn was not average; he was extraordinary, and Glorfindel was delighted that his steady, honorable, dignified friend was finally free of the unstable Galadriel. That alone would have made Glorfindel host celebratory parties and dinners for decades. The fact that Celeborn's real truemate awaited his friend, and that person was one of Marcaunon's fathers, ensured that the House of the Golden Flower may well become known as the House of Drunken Revelry.

He wondered when it would occur to his old friend that being truemated to Marcaunon's father would make Celeborn technically Glorfindel's father-in-law. He couldn't wait!

"Where do you want to go first, Celeborn? The people can wait a bit; I've already sent a message to Ithilwen and Haldir and they're handling that aspect for now. Pre-emptive damage control. Ithilwen is unsurprised, not that any of us are surprised by that, of course! So, we can either go to your talan to look around and help the reality sink in a bit … or we can go to dinner."

Dinner. Sirius and Remus would be at dinner. With him. One of them was his truemate, his real truemate, and they would be at dinner. Which was now. Or he could hide. What? Not hide. Go to his talan. He could go to his talan. But he might run into Sirius on the pathways. Or Remus. Or….

"Why am I staring at my feet?" Celeborn asked politely. It seemed odd; he didn't recall bending down to look at his feet.

Glorfindel replied with amusement, "Because you started to hyperventilate, I pushed you to the bench and Marcaunon shoved your head between your knees. My compliments on your flexibility, by the way. Your truemate is going to appreciate it greatly!"

Celeborn dimly registered a thud, followed by Glorfindel's yelp, but his thoughts had begun to spin again. His truemate would appreciate what? My flexibility. My flexibility? What… why?... oh. Oh.

"Breathe, Celeborn. Slowly. In. And out. In. And out." Marcaunon's gentle baritone urged him. Apparently he had begun hyperventilating again. Why was he doing that?

"Remember that pattern, Celeborn. It's important. There'll be a test later – I'm certain of it." Glorfindel's laughing voice sounded on his other side, followed by another distinct thud, louder this time, and Glorfindel's hissed, "Damn it, Marcaunon, that one really hurt!"

"Good!" Marcuunon growled, rubbing circles on Celeborn's back as the elf started to sway and gasp for breath again. He really felt badly for the poor, terrified Elven Lord. He knew the elf was to all intents a King (more so than Thranduillion, for certain!), and that he was also a warrior and, hell, just being married to Galadriel for several millennia would be a testament to the mithril balls of the elf in front of him, but right now Celeborn was just a scared, overwhelmed person about to meet someone he had dreamed about his entire, incredibly long life. That would freak out anyone.

Having your oldest friend mock you as it happened was just not cool. Glory was _so_ not getting any tonight! Glaring his threat over Celeborn's bent head at his snickering mate, he watched as Glorfindel absorbed the threat and abruptly grew up again.

Glorfindel leaned down and spoke quietly to Celeborn. Within moments, the frightened elf was gone and the Lord of Lothlorien was back. Celeborn accepted Glorfindel's hand as he stood, then turned and pulled Marcaunon into a gentle hug. Leaning down, he whispered in the surprised young man's ear, "Go easy on him, young one. He's been joyful since he met you, and now he finally gets to be happy for me. It's making him stupid." He smiled into the raven-dark hair as Marcaunon huffed a laugh into his chest, then surrendered the tempting imp to his glaring mate.

Heading toward the dining area, Celeborn grinned over his shoulder at his possessive best friend, "Fear not, Glorfindel. You may keep your delightful mate all to yourself. I have my own to hunt."

And as he joined the elves migrating toward the tables, Celeborn wondered if his mate would be the warmly rugged, intelligent, amber-eyed Remus, or the slimly-exotic, smoky-eyed, tempestuous Sirius.

Hmmmm. Looked like a win/win, to him.

ooooooooooooooooooo


	10. Connections

**CHAPTER 10: CONNECTIONS**

**A/N (4/6/12):** Pikachumomma and I are delighted to post the newest chapter in this fic. We are sending big smiles and hugs to those who have encouraged us and who enjoy this story, and thank you most sincerely. To the two readers who feel cheated because this isn't 100% Harry & Glory, we never said it was. The summary even says so. Still, there's enough to go around! To the two or three snarks who have decided that "this sucks"; well, take your toys and go home, because someone clearly needs a nap. To the several thousand others who read regularly and have marked this as a Favorite, and the dozens of faithful reviewers who like our story – see those snarks over there? SIC 'EM!

(mmmmm …. Naaapp….. Wow, kids are really stupid to fight against such things, aren't they? Cuz being a grown-up is so much fun – all that control we have over our own lives, getting to spend money wherever we want, eat without penalty, nobody bosses us around ….!)

Blessed Be, y'all. Happy Reading!

WyrdSmith

ooooooooooooooooooo

**CELEBORN-AGAIN**

Slowly and gracefully, the Elves of Lothlorien and their delightful new resident Istaris gathered for dinner in the serenely beautiful, open-air dining pavilion. Overhead, the intricately interwoven branches of numerous living trees spread a canopy of green above the lovely dining tables. In the Woods of Lothlorien, such was the magic of the Elves that no harsh weather was ever inflicted upon the residential center. Gentle, nurturing rains fell late at night or in the early rays of dawn. Winter did not belong in the heart of these Woods. Only the surrender of the Lightest Race of Arda to the darken tides would change these circumstances.

But such was not a concern tonight, nor, so far as many of the Elves who had met and even served with the newest residents of Arda believed, would such sorrow ever come. Not now that the Demon Team and his kin were here. And thus, this evening meal again wore the seeming of a celebration, as hope that had been gently re-kindled began to flame bright and strong in the hearts of those who had given all hope to mankind, and kept none for themselves.

Tonight, as tens of thousands of nights before, Lord Celeborn strode regally in to the pavilion, dignified and handsome, blue eyes the color of seawater moving observantly around his people and ensuring that all was well. Apart from the beautiful owl that glided silently above the heads of those already gathered to alight upon the Lord's outstretched arm with an unnecessary, deliberate flutter of wings as if to announce her presence, nothing else marked this occasion as being obviously different from so many others. And yet? …. and yet…

The people of these Woods knew Celeborn well. They loved their Lord with a loyalty and affection that was not often felt for those who rule. Amongst the Elves, certainly Lord Elrond of Rivendell shared with Celeborn the special love their people had for their leader, but it was rare even amongst this long-lived race. Certainly, King Thranduillion had never known such power, nor did he merit it. In truth, it was a point of sarcastic amusement amongst those _not_ of the Mirkwood that their leader was so weak, so insecure, so petty, as to insist his people call him 'King', when in truth, his rule was not even a third so large as Mithlond, the sea port known as the Grey Havens. To be a 'King' of Mirkwood, amongst the Elves, was akin to being a 'King' of a small city. Compared to either Lord Elrond or Lord Celeborn, for whom a royal appellation was unnecessary, 'King' Thranduillion was as a bantam rooster compared to one of the Great Eagles. Only Thranduillion's royal lineage allowed him such conceits. And that elf would never know the love and respect of his people that both Elrond and Celeborn shared.

For this reason, despite his usual demeanor of quiet composure and friendly reserve, most of those dining that evening at the community gardens saw within their beloved Lord a new light – in his eyes and in his step – that could not help but lighten their own hearts, as well. News of the Lady Galadriel's departure had begun to spread, first through the alarmed cries of the Lady's personal attendants. Marchwarden Haldir and Lady Ithilwen quickly intervened and clarified at least some of the truth regarding the Lady's departure. Although most of those present were much too mannerly to discuss what they had heard whilst their Lord was present, enough had been learned that most knew the gist. Even the bare bones of the truth were shocking in the extreme. To learn that their tempestuous Lady of the Woods, known far and wide for her mind powers, love of trouble and shallow concern for her own people (compared to her nonexistent concern for other peoples), was not full Elven was astonishing. Despite all the conflict and the pain their Lady had caused, all had believed her to be the epitome of an Elven elleth. Her flightiness was attributed to her power, one not shared by any other of their race, and was believed to have made her unstable. Now, it was rumored that Galadriel's powers had come to her through her non-Elven mother, one of the Valar in the White Lands. Of course, it was well known that Galadriel's father was Noldor, but it only now began to occur to the People that none had ever really discussed much of the Lady's parentage. Now, in retrospect, it was clear that meddling by the Valar had caused that effect, as such a long-lived race had essentially talked every possible topic to death and then some. To have completely overlooked the parentage of the most recognizable of all the elleths was not possible without godly intervention. For now, their outrage waited in the shadows while the Lothloriens processed the more immediate truths of the day – that Galadriel had been half-Valar, that she had not been the natural truemate of their beloved Lord Celeborn, that their Lord had been the beneficiary (victim!) of a bond falsified by the goddess who birthed Galadriel, that the Valar had seen their error and acknowledged their debt to Celeborn and released him, finally, from the bond.

That Galadriel was gone to the White Lands with her mother, to never play with and plague the People again.

That Celeborn was free.

It was this last fact that kept most of the Lothloriens from inundating the Valar with furious prayers and petitions for revenge, for balance, for at least an accounting of Galadriel's actions throughout the thousands of years in which she abused her gifts and tormented the very people she had claimed as her own. Those words would come, certainly, but for now the People waited. Because, no matter how much they had suffered, even unto the deaths of their loved ones, it was Lord Celeborn who had first claim for vengeance. It was he who had suffered the most, and it was he who had sacrificed himself endlessly to secure the wellbeing of his people and the containment of the Lady.

As always, it was to Celeborn the people of the Woods looked for guidance and information, and in his bearing, they saw a deeply-weary soul lightened by the loss of the burdensome Lady, and uplifted by some act or information that was, for now, a mystery to all but a few. And as the weight lifted from their Lord's shoulders, so did it seem to lift from the hearts of the People, and even from the world itself.

New life was a-dawning for the ancient Race of Elves.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**CLEANSING THE PAIN**

As Celeborn seated himself at the head of the long table, he greeted the guests of his table with a warm smile. He had expected – indeed, demanded – the absence of his second heir Legolas and his truemates (who would soon be declared as Celeborn's first-heirs) Eredhion and Sidhenidon. Those three needed to recover, to regain their confidence and affirm their bond now that it had become what it should have been originally. He had heard how wounded young Legolas had been the night prior to their arrival here in his Woods, when his twin truemates had stayed the night reconnecting with their siblings. The redhaired Istaris had done nothing wrong, except in light of the newness of their bond and the fragility of their Elven mate. Understanding now how even their beginning-bond had already been somewhat unbalanced, it was more remarkable that Legolas had forgiven them, than that he had been hurt in the first place. Although Celeborn was certain that Legolas would remain the submissive in that triad, he was equally certain that Legolas would now have the confidence and faith in his truemates that would allow him to show his own vast strength. In truth, Legolas reminded Celeborn of himself, many millennia ago, when he was just two or three thousand years old and the world was still a place of uncertainty and wonder. Magical power in the care of young Legolas, whose gentle nature and compassion were balanced against a strong will regarding right, wrong and personal responsibility, was magic well-placed, indeed.

Now, as he joined in light conversations with those who _did_ grace his table this night, Celeborn felt that there was once again something new in the world. He had felt this yesterday, of course, and ever since the arrival of the Istari-warriors. Even while still tethered to Galadriel, Celeborn had delighted in the interest and curiosity that these newcomers brought to his people and himself. But now, knowing that he sat at a table that suddenly held not just his friends, new and old, but his _family_, and that among these people was his soulmate (a phrase that helped him separate this new mate from his false 'truemate'), put Celeborn in a frame of mind he had not occupied in dozens of centuries. He felt happiness and anticipation and anxiety – all emotions he had thought long lost to him, beneath the weight and growing dullness of an _herves_ and a world that had held none but dark surprises for him.

To his immediate right was Marcaunon, then Glorfindel. Celeborn knew that the choice to seat Marcaunon next to him was deliberate, and declared that young man's unflagging support for Celeborn. It was a subtlety that the ancient elf would not have thought belonged in the capabilities of such a young human, and yet he had clearly seen that it was Marcaunon who directed the seating and Glorfindel who acceded.

Next to Glorfindel was Ithilwen, and then, of course, Haldir. While Celeborn cherished his oldest friend Glorfindel deeply, it was for now the latter two who held his interest and gratitude. They had managed to release the most sensitive of the information surrounding Galadriel, the Valar and himself, without causing what he had thought would be inevitable outrage. Instead, his people seemed thoughtful and observant, watching with hope in their own eyes to see that which was certainly in Celeborn's. He was truly, deeply happy for Haldir, knowing how much the Marchwarden adored his young mate. It was like watching springtime come to an ancient grove, where the new blossoms woke the old trees and they celebrated life together. Such was Haldir, with Ithilwen. Furthermore, considering that young Istari's Sight, Celeborn felt that Arda would not suffer for the loss of far-sight and second-sight. If one could even count low enough to tally a loss from those rare instances where he could wrest all information from Galadriel regarding what she saw in her basin. He had already learned that Ithilwen shared what she gleaned with her family, and that there were at least a few people who could correctly interpret her words during such times. He suspected that Haldir would soon be her foremost translator. Furthermore, there were hints dropped by the new Lady of Sight that Gimli, son of Gloin, also shared some gift of Sight, although he knew not in what measure or direction that gift laid. He suspected that this was the main cause for Galadriel's antipathy for the dwarf, if he shared her gift in some measure and was able to prevent her incessant 'peeking' into the minds of Gimli or those he protected.

On Celeborn's immediate left was Gimli, the most recent subject of his thoughts. Once, he certainly would have prefaced that, even in his own mind, as 'the dwarf, Gimli', but now the redbearded father figure to Legolas was simply _Gimli_ – likable, affable, fierce, protective, paternal and very much a worthy person to count as friend or ally.

Next to Gimli sat Taorin, the Elven warrior best known amongst his people for his lack of facility on the ground and his astonishing grace amongst the trees. He had accompanied the warriors sent to Helm's Deep due to his remarkable ability to scout overhead, unseen and unheard amongst the branches and leaves of any forested area. Taorin and Gimli had become fast friends, sharing an almost filial bond much like that of Glorfindel and Celeborn. Although it was not usual to have a tree-scout seated at the table of the Lord, with the Lady gone, there were none who objected. Certainly, Celeborn saw it as just another welcome change.

And there, seated on the last two chairs to the left of Taorin, farthest away from Celeborn, were the subjects of Celeborn's most intense interest: Istaris Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. Not a twitch of muscle nor glance of eye betrayed Celeborn, but virtually the elf's entire being was focused on studying these two, unmated men.

One of them was Celeborn's truemate. But which one?

Knowing that it would be best to appoint one more Lothlorien to be as fully informed on these most recent events as were his new family and old friends, thus providing another source for accurate information to his curious people, Celeborn sent for Daugion to join them. When the experienced warrior arrived, Celeborn simply gestured him to sit next to Taorin, moving the two at the end to shift down one. The Lord grinned slightly at Lord Sirius's obvious discomfiture at finding himself on the end of the table, in what was traditionally the Lady's seat, but set the man's mind at rest by saying, "We have much to explain, and it is best that we get to it. It would cause more havoc to place Daugion in that seat, believe me, Master Sirius. For now, please disregard the usual formalities of manners and seating, and let us simply share a meal and conversation." He held the embarrassed gray gaze until Sirius dropped his eyes in resignation, nodding slightly and aiming a sideways glare at his oldest friend when Remus politely offered him his displaced glass, eyes twinkling.

After raising his arm so that the beautiful Hedwig could waddle up it and settle onto her living perch in the form of 'her' potted tree that was to remain permanently next to the Lord's chair, the meal commenced.

From then on, the diners at the Lord's Table shared deep attention and quiet conversation as Harry, Celeborn and Glorfindel informed them of the earlier events with the Valar. Neither they, nor those carefully listening from nearby tables, expressed anything but happiness for Legolas and the Devils. The shock about Galadriel had been tempered by the advance spread of the news by Haldir and Ithilwen. Nothing was mentioned regarding the existence of Celeborn's actual truemate, much less that he was one of the father-Istaris. Glorfindel, who was narrating, left that topic at the point where Galadriel was removed and Celeborn was freed. Feeling the weight of another's gaze upon him, Celeborn glanced up and found himself the focus of two sets of sympathetic eyes – one amber and one smoke. Narrowing his own eyes slightly in rejection of pity, he was surprised to find that both Remus and Sirius merely seemed to grow more understanding, as if they were each intimately familiar with the task of bearing with as much dignity as possible the weight of an undeserved burden – and the utter disorientation that comes when the burden is removed. Looking more closely into the steady gazes of the Demon's fathers, Celeborn acknowledged that both of these men did, indeed, know how adrift and excited and intimidated and utterly bereft he felt at this moment.

Either man would make a wonderful mate and partner. But which was he? Celeborn wished, in retrospect, that he had caused Daugion to sit between the two newest human Istaris. He hoped that even a small distance between the two would allow his raging bondtide to lash in one direction or the other. Instead, due to their proximity to each other, Celeborn could only sit in torment and wonder, knowing only that the bondtide surged in their direction and hoping he could contain his own actions enough so as to conduct this – courting? – with some circumspection. The longer the meal continued, however, the greater was the Lord's impulse to simply seize each in a kiss and let the bondtide free to make his claim in the most public manner possible. He resisted, with the mithril will that he had honed through numerous millennia, and spent the rest of the meal simply watching the two men as discreetly as possible.

Celeborn would be delighted with either male. Despite their long familiarity with each other and a shared sense of 'maraudership' and paternal care for the 'children', these two men were markedly different from each other and vastly different from anyone else Celeborn had ever met.

Remus was all warm, comfortable safety. He was physically strong, with an affable, attractive face from which amber eyes glowed. There was a definite feral edge to the man that declared him the 'alpha' of his pack, as Marcaunon had just this morning explained was the best analogy to define the way in which a wolven – known to the Terrans as a werewolf – saw his family and friends. Despite the edge of danger, Remus most reminded Celeborn of the warm, sweet candies made from the running sap of the winter trees. Even his amber eyes would soften to taffy when the man's heart was full. There was a vast, comfortable intellect hidden in those amber depths – this was a man who would live in a library, given the chance, emerging only to spend time with his beloved family or to protect the pack. Remus was like one of the great, strong trees of the Golden Woods: stable, strong, faithful, sheltering and possessed of a deep, quiet knowledge that was immensely comforting. Such a man would be a remarkable change in Celeborn's life, which had been defined by the elder elf's struggle to contain the flightiness, shallowness, instability and short attention span of Galadriel. Celeborn suspected that such a man as a lover would be loving, sometimes mischievous, always strong and safe, and occasionally with an edge of wild nature and the call of the moon lending a pagan quality to their bed. Furthermore, Celeborn believed that Remus Lupin, as an alpha, would be the taker more than the taken, a prospect that, although exciting in a way, caused a curl of rebellion to roll through Celeborn. His beddings with Galadriel were always unsatisfying, knowing that he was a distraction for the elleth rather than her focus. Her own disinterest had given her too much power even in their bed, as he tried too hard to keep her aroused and serve her needs. It had gone against his nature, because at heart, Celeborn was a Lord. Although generous of spirit and willing to compromise, it was not in Celeborn's nature to submit, not even to the pressure that came from trying to keep his Lady entertained. It did not sit well with him. Although, he very much doubted that Remus Lupin, even in a dominant mating position, would be anything less than fully attentive to and concentrated on his partner. And, frankly, the very idea of having as a mate someone who mirrored Celeborn's fidelity and loyalty, who would provide for Celeborn the occasional place to lay down the weight of Lordship, who would stand beside him and share his own strength and certainty, made a very tempting image to the exhausted Lord.

Then, too, there was Sirius, physical opposite to Remus in every way. Sirius was slim, graceful and deadly, like an Elven dagger. His features were well-crafted and beautiful. Long, straight black hair with hard-earned streaks of silver often escaped the bands used to tie it, as if, like its owner, even the man's hair had too much energy and will to remain confined. Mischief ran rampant throughout the man, sparkling in his smoky eyes and snapping off his energetic hands. His laugh was ready and infectious, his smile bright and delightful. And yet, there was an incisive intelligence within those distinctive, gray eyes. There was a depth of character to the man, an immense capacity for love and intense loyalty, that fairly radiated to those with the ability to see it, as all elves had. And Celeborn had heard some of the tale of Sirius's life, including his hellish imprisonment and incredible escape, his determined survival in the face of all obstacles, his refusal to surrender to overwhelming pain and torment, his defiance of everyone and everything he had ever known as he fought to get to his godson's side and protect the children he and Remus considered their own. Not once had Celeborn heard Sirius ever refer to his own dark past, and yet the scars of it showed in the steel of the man's spine and the man's ability to empathize with others who were in pain. If Sirius were his mate, Celeborn's life would be changed irrevocably, as he had no doubt that Sirius Black would bring laughter and inventiveness to every aspect of life, and yet would provide his mate with the unshakeable certainty that nothing and no one would ever tear Sirius Black from his side. Fidelity was of no question; the man's strength of character fairly shone from his very skin. He, too, would be a wonderful mate.

And their marriage bed would be – incredible. The very idea of running his hands through the long, shining curls of silken black, of possessing those teasing lips and watching smoky gray eyes darken to slate, of rolling that slim, lithe body beneath him ….

Quickly drawing in a shuddering breath beneath the cover of taking a long drink from his soda-water, Celeborn forced himself back under control. In truth, Celeborn was glad he did not have to choose, that the choice was made for him already. Given the promise in the god's eyes, Celeborn believed that both of these men had a wonderful future and mate ahead of them – but which of them belonged with Celeborn?

In truth, based on what the god had said, Celeborn thought he knew his mate already. While Remus would make a delightful mate and Celeborn would be certain of happiness, it was Sirius Black who most captured his imagination. And, given the god's comment that he would have been Galadriel's truemate had she been full-elven, that seemed to solidify his certainty. He suspected it was Galadriel's elven half that provided the impishness, the gaiety, the laughter – even the inability to not poke at people and events just to see what they would do. Those were the small traits that had allowed Celeborn to not hate his wife. And those traits, Sirius Black owned in tremendous volume, along with so many others that held Celeborn's attention with no effort at all.

"…born? Celeborn?" Celeborn heard his name being called faintly and brought his wandering mind back to the present, far from those sinful thoughts of debauchery.

"Yes, Marcaunon?"

"I was just telling Remus about your wonderful library, and it occurs to me that perhaps you wouldn't mind if our history enthusiast took a look." Marcaunon answered. He had a knowing half-grin on his face, but the look in his emerald eye was sympathetic and understanding. Celeborn immediately realized that Glorfindel's mate had found a way to separate his two fathers so that the Lothlorien Lord would be able to follow the bondtide to his truemate. Deeply appreciative, Celeborn allowed a smile to warm his own eyes as he nodded in agreement, thankful that Marcaunon was obviously his ally in this.

"Of course, that would be fine," Celeborn agreed, "Would you like a guide, Master Remus, or will simple instruction suffice?" He smiled gently into amber eyes, briefly puzzled at the worry he read in them as Remus rose to walk to his chair. Within seconds, there was enough distance between the two that Celeborn knew for certain who his mate was, and had to close his eyes to seize control of his own urges.

He jumped in surprise when a demanding finger suddenly tapped his nose, and opened his eyes to stare shocked at the close proximity of worried amber eyes. Remus grinned briefly, belying his own worry, and said in a low, teasing voice, "You seemed distracted. Given the pheromones you're suddenly emitting, I can imagine why. I doubt I need to say this, my friend, but if you hurt him, I promise what you suffered with that crazy bitch ex of yours will seem like several millennia of purest paradise compared to what I do to you. Understand?"

Remus did not flinch or look away while Celeborn searched his eyes for any signs of trouble or hurt over the fact that Remus was, apparently, the only unbonded member of his family now. Satisfied, Celeborn offered him a solemn smile and said quietly, "He must first agree, of course, but the very idea of harming one I treasure so much is anathema to me. Should that happen, I would plead with you to take vengeance for him. I swear it." His steady gaze was searched by sharp amber eyes, before a ready smile broke out on the friendly face of Remus Lupin.

"Welcome to the family, Celeborn," was all Remus said. Given the man's long friendship with and deep understanding of Sirius Black, Celeborn read his welcome as reassurance, and nodded back.

After providing Remus with general directions to his private library, Celeborn watched as the amber eyes darted worriedly toward Marcaunon. His own, assessing gaze turned to the young man after Remus departed, saying to Celeborn, "I believe I can find it just fine. Thank you for this. If all goes as it normally does when I find a library, expect me – err, well, actually, you'll probably have to send someone for me when you need me next." His sheepish grin was amused as the werewolf ambled away from the pavilion and headed down the indicated path toward his version of nirvana.

As the others rose to leave the dinner table, it occurred to Celeborn that no one seemed to be suffering from any grief or sorrow regarding Galadriel, despite the fact that their Lady had departed forever, without farewells, mere hours ago. He wondered if the Valar had some hand in this, but in truth, the general air of relief and growing relaxation amongst his people convinced him otherwise. He was both happy and saddened that they did not grieve. Despite her excesses, Galadriel had been amongst them for as many millennia as he had been. It felt improper that no ceremony was planned, no loss was felt. It felt as if all of his own effort was no longer of value, as if all it had taken was the blink of a god's eye and suddenly, everything was perfectly fine. Lost in dark thought, Celeborn did not notice that the pavilion had emptied of people, including the slow, reluctantly departing figure of Sirius Black, nor did he sense the one who joined him until a warm hand suddenly rested over his clenched fist.

Startled, he stared at the hand before he allowed himself to look up and see its owner. Somehow, he was surprised to find himself looking upon the luminous face of Lady Ithilwen. And then he felt silly, because, of all the people he knew, who else would have known his pain-that-wasn't?

She smiled sadly at him, and rubbed her hand comfortingly over his still-clenched fist. "You grieve … that you do not grieve. You mourn for your people, that they do not mourn. You care for Galadriel, because she would not care. What you are left with is loss … of your innocence … of your hope … of your newness … of the tremendous, unrelenting work that you put forth all your long life on the one, truly hopeless aspect of your vast years. You feel cheated, somehow, that it was this easy, that all it took was a few minutes of the Valar's attention and you could have been spared millennias' worth of pain and strain and heartache." She watched with deep empathy as Celeborn's throat worked painfully as he tried to swallow the growing lump in it, as he tried to clench his jaw against the sudden unsteadiness of profound emotion, and her own eyes filled with tears that overflowed as he lost the battle for self-control and lowered his head into shaking hands to weep.

He did not weep as Elves were meant to. He cried. It was not beautiful and serene. There were no silver tears rolling silently down delicate skin. There were no soft, musical sobs. This was a harsh, horrible rending of the Lord's spirit. This was not a gentle purging of sorrow; this was emotional amputation. This was raw pain, expressing itself in aching, tearing moans and furious growls and wrenching gasps. Tears poured from swollen, reddened eyes that were tightly clenched. Snot was halted by a hurriedly grabbed napkin, and strong, dignified shoulders bowed and shuddered beneath the weight of the rage and loss and denial and sorrow the Lord had tried to carry. Too much agony erupted in too brief a time from too small a form to contain it all, and the result was ugly and awful and traumatic.

And necessary.

And cathartic.

It was so intense, in fact, that the Lord did not even notice the horror of apparation, as Ithilwen transported them directly into his private rooms in his talan, there to be met by Haldir, who did not hesitate to pull Celeborn down with him to the floor and wrap him in a tight, comforting embrace. There, on the floor of Celeborn's lonely bedroom, Haldir rocked the Lord of Lothlorien in his arms and held him secure within the storm of pain that come upon him so suddenly.

Later, when he had calmed, Haldir and Ithilwen placed Celeborn into the deep, hot bath Ithilwen had drawn for him, settling in with him to bathe and comfort him, heating the water further with magic as it began to cool, adding healing oils and scented herbs into the waters to draw the ache from long-clenched muscles and to open and soothe the sinuses and tear ducts abused by the emotional storm. Celeborn was vaguely aware of the naked skin and comforting warmth that surrounded him, and the soothing hands that soaped and massaged him. Long bereft of physical touch, he was distantly embarrassed as his body reacted to the smooth glide of hands on his skin, but was soothed again by the deep voice in his ear and the reassuring strength of the smooth, naked chest against which he was urged to recline as he was comforted and accepted and reassured by two, loving companions. He had no responsibilities here; gentle hands and voices moved him as they would, and he simply complied. He closed his eyes and turned his head to listen to the strong, steady thump of a heart beneath his ear. Strong, calloused hands caressed his chest and stomach, and silky, delicate hands ran long, soothing lines down his legs. Obeying the gentle directions, Celeborn allowed his legs to fall open and, for once, allowed himself to be cared for and nurtured, and allowed someone else to be strong. And they were. Strong chest behind him, strong thighs on either side of his, and soft legs atop his knees. Strong hands on his hard shaft guided it into a soft, warm mouth that sank down upon it. Strong, knowing hands stroked his shaft and fondled his testicles as a hot, slick mouth surrounded and suckled him and soft hair tickled his thighs and groin. His weak attempt to regain solitude, to fight against the rising tide of pleasure, was defeated by the safety of the muscled arms around his chest and stomach that lifted him slightly, and the one muscled arm that held him pressed bonelessly to a powerful chest as the other stole down his body, to stroke between his buttocks and press one strong, thick, oiled finger gently into his heated core. Fierce suction and a slick, agile tongue around his cock worked in harmony with gentle hands rolling his sac and the strong, calloused finger that stroked deep within his center, spreading his cheeks for added tension as that talented finger crooked knowingly and pressed unerringly against Celeborn's prostate.

Unable to resist, still barely aware, Celeborn arched his strong neck and pressed his head, mouth gaping open and gasping for air, back against the chest and arm that sheltered him, held securely against the powerful body of his Marchwarden as the elf and his mate brought their Lord to long-denied fulfillment. Long spasms of pleasure sent Celeborn's essence pulsing into Ithilwen's willing mouth, aided in intensity by Haldir's strong, talented finger stroking and caressing deep within his Lord. Daring, luminous eyes locked with Haldir's as Ithilwen suckled the pulsing cock in her mouth, watching her mate's eyes darkening in lust as they joined in soothing and delighting Celeborn, taking him past his grief and to a place where relaxation is impossible to resist and healing begins.

Dimly, Celeborn was aware of Haldir's hard cock pulsing hot jets of essence against his buttocks, aided by the encouraging strokes of Ithilwen's hand as she buried the other between her own legs and brought herself to ecstasy, as well. Their cries and gasps seemed somehow appropriate to Celeborn, welcomed by him in this rare moment of truest comfort and friendship.

Briefly soaped and rinsed again, Celeborn's eyes were already closing as he was lifted from the tub and dried magically, then carried by a naked Haldir to his bed and settled upon the silken sheets. After a brief hesitation, in which apparently his weakly seeking hand even as he drifted further toward sleep was adequate argument, he was joined by two sleek, naked forms. Strong, powerful Haldir pulled Celeborn into his arms and settled the exhausted Lord upon his chest, as sleek, soothing Ithilwen wrapped herself against his back and ran gentle, caressing circles of silken hands on Celeborn's stomach. Finally drifting into fullest, deepest sleep, Celeborn was aware of the fact that he had never, in his long, long life, felt so beloved.

Having entered from the side deck of the talan, a lithe form was gracefully perched on the windowsill, gentle, as gray eyes filled with understanding and a small amount of jealousy watched over the three in the Lord's bed … one more line of protection between the Lord and his pain.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**SIRIUSLY DEVILISH**

The next morning could have been painfully awkward, if not for the lighthearted and delightful teasing of Ithilwen and a simple, straightforward hug of reassurance from Haldir. They had acted out of love and concern for Celeborn, as his dear friends. If needs be, they would do so again, although, as Haldir dryly observed, they would probably have to involve bindings of some kind and be forced to work harder to ambush him next time, as he now knew what they were capable of. Celeborn had just stared for a moment, half in and half out of his leggings, then sank down onto the bed and laughed somewhat helplessly.

He had wanted something new in his life. He had not expected to become the prey and prize in the newly-invented game of commando-comfort sex!

He hadn't realized he had muttered this thought aloud until Ithilwen cheerfully offered, "But just imagine the training exercises! Haldir's forces will never before have been so skilled!" Haldir added laughingly, "Nor quite so plentiful! I can see the recruitment lines now."

Shaking his head as his friends continued to tease, Celeborn gently nudged a helpful Luna back over to Haldir so that he could sort out his own leggings without any more 'accidental' slips of that mischievous hand. Finally dressed, despite Luna's faux-pout that forced a smirking Haldir to growlingly remind her just to whom she belonged, Celeborn turned bemusedly back toward the dining pavilion to join the others for breakfast. Usually, he and Galadriel had shared the morning meal in their rooms, but change was upon him and Celeborn was determined to embrace it.

During breakfast, they were joined by a blushing Legolas and a fiercely protective pair of Devils. It was evident that the new boundaries of their bond had been tested – repeatedly. Celeborn had ordered that the long table be exchanged for a large, round one, much to Sirius's relief, although the gray-eyed man laughed when Celeborn rolled his eyes at first sight of the taller, more ornate chair that was obviously set aside for the Lord. He was pleased, though, with Hedwig's tree.

Understandably, Celeborn had insisted that Legolas sit near him, although Eredhion and Sidhenidon insisted with equal fervor that they sit on either side of their elven mate. Still, Celeborn was able to talk with his second-heir and – although they still did not know it – his soon-to-be-named first-heirs, and was greatly reassured at Legolas' accepting, matter-of-fact manner regarding his new status as the first Elven Istari. The others listened carefully as Legolas described what he knew so far.

"I can feel the magic, humming all around me. My mates said that they did not feel it as I do until they gained their Elemental abilities, but I suppose as an Elf I would feel it as simply another aspect of the natural world, to which we are already connected," he explained, steadfastly pushing aside the second helping of toast urged on him by Sidhenidon. "I do know how to manage the power, and how to guide it. It's like breathing or blinking, I needn't think about it at all, although I have much to learn about the possibilities. However, although I am certain I could produce something offensive or defensive magically if I had to, I have no urge to do so." He hesitated, obviously mulling over how much he wanted to say.

Celeborn caught his slightly shadowed gaze and smiled gently at him, watching with pleasure as the younger elf's gaze lightened to the soft blue he knew so well. "You needn't say anything you don't wish to, Legolas. I imagine this is intensely personal to you, especially as it is so new."

Legolas could not help but raise his eyebrows in surprise. Thranduillion would have been interrogating him the second he opened his eyes. Nothing would have been allowed to remain private. Had he needed it, here was yet another bit of proof that Celeborn was sincere when he said that Legolas did not serve him. It was this gentle acceptance that gave Legolas the courage to continue speaking. Meeting Celeborn's eyes and refusing to look at anyone else, Legolas drew a deep breath and said cautiously, "I… may … believe that my abilities lay more along the course of … healing, my Lord."

He was very aware of the indrawn breaths from the eavesdroppers behind and around him, but kept his gaze locked on Celeborn. Magical healing was something believed to belong only to the Valar. With the news of Galadriel's true heritage, and the terrible wrongs done to Celeborn by the very same gods that had birthed the Lady, Legolas was very afraid that this revelation may be the one to cause Celeborn to retreat from him.

As if he could see clearly into Legolas worried heart, Celeborn's gaze immediately softened and he leaned forward and gripped Legolas clenched fist in his own, warm hand. Seawater eyes held tightly to the gaze from sky blue eyes and did not waver as Celeborn said with quiet conviction, "Legolas, if you have the gift of healing, it will be nothing but a blessing to our people. Howsoever your magic reveals itself or not, _you_ are a blessing to us and to me. Do not for an instant allow yourself to worry over such things. I brought you into my home and family when you were no more magical than any other elf; and I saw you then as extraordinary. Anything you achieve beyond that is merely proof of my own good judgment." It took a moment for them to realize that the smirking Lord had just complimented himself, but the resulting wave of laughter dispersed the tension that had arisen with this newest revelation.

On the other side of the table, Sirius Black smiled slightly, eyes thoughtful, as he watched the gentle interplay between his newest son, Legolas, and the Elven Lord who was occupying most of Sirius's thoughts since they had first arrived in Lothlorien. From the moment he and Remus approached the dining pavilion, escorted by Gimli and Taorin (who, in response to Gimli's own Sight, had been waiting just yards from where their portal opened), Sirius had found himself inexplicably drawn to the tall, dignified Lord of this Realm. To Sirius, Celeborn stood out amidst a veritable sea of beautiful, graceful, dignified people. He had been crushed to learn that Celeborn had a truemate, and had taken malicious enjoyment from the tales of the Lady's punishment at the 'hands' of her Lord. Sirius was particularly incensed when he learned what her actions had been against his own children, and it was only Celeborn's steady regard upon him that silenced Sirius' need to crush the bitch with his darkest magic. He would have done it in a heartbeat, but knowing that Celeborn was truemated – although he couldn't stand the thought of it – stopped him. Hurting Galadriel would have hurt Celeborn, and so Sirius had restrained himself and directed his emotions into instigating a prank war with the twins. (Hah! As if he really hadn't known that Harry had messed with the pitcher's weight somehow! No matter how good the kid got, Sirius would always be the Master Marauder.)

Facing Celeborn across the breakfast table this morning had been difficult for Sirius. He had watched the dignified Elven Lord over dinner last night, had seen the elf's fierce struggle for self-control as the meal wore on and Galadriel was barely mentioned and in no way mourned. Sirius had his own wealth of experience with sudden freedom from a crushing, unfair burden that had been forced upon him. At the time, everyone had acted like it was best to not talk about it, as if he hadn't really just spent over a decade in horror being tortured for crimes he did not commit. No one except Harry and Remus even mentioned Azkaban, as if avoiding the topic eliminated his awful association with that darkness. Very few people had even apologized for believing the worst of him, and none who mattered (barring Remus and, oddly, the Hogwart's Librarian) had admitted, much less apologized for, their failure to take action on his behalf at least in the interests of true justice. Only Harry and Remus, and later Luna, Fred and George, had truly tried to share his burden and to soothe his pain.

He had still managed to destroy a fair portion of Remus's woods, though, when the dam final broke and his ugliest emotions rushed through.

Last night, Sirius had watched Celeborn enduring the same thing. The Lord's raw pain and outrage seemed to be set up on a mirror spell, reflecting back to Sirius even as Celeborn slowly lost control. Sirius had not wanted to leave when all the others did. He realized Celeborn barely even knew him, but there was no way in hell Sirius was leaving the Lord alone to deal with pain like that. Only Haldir's firm hand on his back, urging him away down the path, and the solemn pledge in little Luna's eyes as she turned back to Celeborn, earned the gray-eyed wizard's cooperation. He didn't go far, though. The second Haldir left Sirius at his talan steps, Sirius tagged him and then followed the tag until he found himself perched high up on a side deck of one of the topmost talan's, clearly the home of the royals if the guards and elaborate architecture were anything to go by. Casting a blend-me and a notice-me-not, Sirius had quietly approached the open window and observed the care with which Haldir and Luna treated Celeborn. From the window, he could see into the bathing room and witnessed the gentleness with which the two caressed and comforted the grieving Lord. He did not consider himself a voyeur; he was not there for prurient reasons and Luna had known he was present, as she knew most things. Had she disapproved, he would have been removed; Sirius had no illusions about his own power compared to one of the Demon Team. His own tears had spilled in benediction for the three, and when they laid down together in the bed and Haldir and Luna had wrapped reassuringly around the exhausted Celeborn, luminous blue eyes had met solemn gray and a promise was made. Thus, Luna had allowed herself to join her mate and their friend in vulnerable sleep, trusting to the vigilance of her Marauder father to ensure their safety through the night.

Sirius had spent the night deep in thought and memory, systematically dealing with his own pain – new and old – and forcing himself to see Galadriel as Celeborn did. Somehow, Sirius knew that he was connected to the dignified Elven Lord, and it was crucial that he genuinely understand what the elf felt – even when it was distasteful to do so. Sirius really did not want to feel compassion and pity for the cold-hearted Lady, regardless of the reasons for her disassociated emotions with her own people and husband. Still, it was vital for Celeborn's wellbeing that someone other than Luna and Haldir understand the reserved Lord, and so Sirius went after this bone like any other that he was determined to have, until he had successfully uncovered and explored it and recognized it from a personal perspective. Once that was done, he had been vastly relieved to spend the remaining hours until dawn replaying the adventures of the Marauders in preparation for the coming prank war. He especially enjoyed thinking about their "grand" departure from the dinner table once the gauntlet had been taken up. He had heard that Legolas' reaction had been priceless.

Even now, eyes focused on the still tense form of the Devils' mate, Sirius could not help but snicker quite a bit at himself and the boys. He had been doing so ever since he and the twins left the table, when he realized how they had basically all flounced away like a bunch of drag queens. It was hard to get used to not wearing cloaks, especially when you wore them all the time and had gotten really accustomed to walking in a way that made them flare and billow around you. When you did that without the cloak, you mostly looked like you had a wedgie you were hoping to shake loose. He had heard about Legolas' giggle fit and found himself just that much fonder of the little one. In fact, he had just thought of the perfect way to make the little elf feel better.

"Hey, Legolas!" Startled, the young elf looked over at him, eyes narrowing suspiciously at Sirius's mischievous grin. "I've got something for you!" Without pausing, Sirius called forth the memory of his and the twins' swishy departure and sent it over the table in a large, projection memory, then sat back and enjoyed the show as a wide-eyed Legolas stared at the scene of his magnificently masculine demons mincing away like pissy fashionistas. Watching Legolas gulp a deep breath and freeze, trying desperately to hold to his dignity, before slowly dissolving into the adorable giggles that Sirius had heard about from a chuckling Remus, was completely worth a replay of his own flaming getaway.

Even more so when Sirius caught sight of the warm, approving gaze Celeborn sent him, as Legolas' tension and worry evaporated in the lightheartedness Sirius had intentionally evoked. Sirius was honestly surprised; he figured most of the people around would have taken his actions as just another burst of mischief, which would have been perfectly fine with Sirius. But apparently, Celeborn saw right through to the heart of his motivations, and approved. Caught in the clear, sea-green gaze, Sirius's thoughts flashed back to his observations of the night before, and how those eyes had darkened to the color of a stormy sea beneath the passion the Lord experienced as Luna's mouth suckled that incredible cock while Haldir held Celeborn's straining body tightly against his gleaming chest. Sirius could feel how aroused he had become, watching Celeborn move and writhe as the Marchwarden finger-fucked him. Feeling his cock harden beneath the memories and the warm, seawater gaze of the Elven Lord, for the first time Sirius could ever remember (at least since he passed puberty), he dropped his eyes in confusion and blushed. Blushed! Mortified, he cast an ice-air spell at his genitals, ignoring the sudden pain as he pushed his chair back and stood, summoning his inner-Marauder like a shield and sent a challenging glare at the twins, who were watching their little elf with complete enchantment as Legolas giggled away. Activating the trigger on his trap, he said with a devilish grin (because, 'Siriusly', he had totally owned the devilish-grin thing long before the freckle-faces ever found their alter-egos), "This prank war started yesterday. I gave you enough of a pity-break, and for my compassion I declare this is now a timed challenge. It ends at midnight, and Celeborn, Taorin, Daugion and Gimli are the judges – with Hedwig as the tiebreaker. Tick tock, little imps, step up or lie down and show throat."

With that, he swept away, very carefully _not_ swishing a non-existent cloak, and cackled mockingly as, back at the table, Fred and George suddenly found themselves wearing bright red leotards, complete with arrow-tipped tail, small pointy ears, tiny little horns, hair in two adorable ponytails tied high on each side of their heads with bright pink bows - and wearing bright white diapers. Even as they stared at each other in complete shock, small explosions erupted from the seat of their diapers, which immediately expanded and drooped slightly beneath a sudden load complete with a noxious puff of green smoke that trailed behind them, and a childish voice giggled and announced, "Baby devils made a doo-doo!"

The stunned silence at the table slowly shattered beneath the frantic head-shaking of Legolas, who had both hands pressed tightly over his mouth as his shoulders began to shake with the attempt to keep control. He lost the battle when he saw the horrified disgust on the faces of his devils. Closing his eyes did NOT help, as the rank odor was a more than adequate reminder. Unable to stop himself, Legolas finally pushed his chair back and dove for Celeborn, seeking the Lord's protection from his outraged mates as the little elf surrendered to a truly spectacular fit of giggles.

For his part, Celeborn had one arm protectively around Legolas – which was pretty much all that was keeping the elf upright - and one hand pressed firmly against his own mouth, but even as he bit his lip and slowly shook his head in denial, he lost the battle and erupted into full-throated laughter. As if he had released everyone else, laughter erupted from the gathered elves and the few Istaris present. It doubled as the twins, unable to cancel the spell or to apparate, had to walk away with attempted dignity, which was already impossible without the second eruption from their diapers that resulted in the two have to waddle beneath the weight of the "doo-doo". It didn't help that the twins started snickering halfway out of the pavilion, either.

They had to give it to the old man; he _really_ knew his shit.

oooooooooooooooooo

**HEART TO HEART**

As the newly-recovered breakfast companions began to depart, following the guidance of Remus Lupin as he hurried off again to the Lord's Library, Celeborn noted Remus' concerned glance back at Marcaunon. Throughout breakfast, even before the prank war re-ignited, they had noticed that something had been – off—with the young Istari. During the descriptions of the events in the Devils' bedroom, Marcaunon had seemed much too controlled. Even Sirius' opening salvo against the twins had not earned the type of laughter one might have expected from Marcaunon. It was definitely worrisome.

Celeborn watched Glorfindel have a private discussion with his mate, and observed with concern the agitation in his old friend as Glorfindel finally nodded reluctantly and walked over to Celeborn as Marcaunon slipped away. He instinctively reached out a long arm and rested his comforting hand on Glorfindel's shoulder as soon as the warrior was within range.

"Based on your shock over the goblins two days ago, Marcaunon is concerned that perhaps we may have missed sharing important information with you. He would like me to catch you up to speed on our 'adventures' while he takes a little time by the river to think," Glorfindel tried to keep his tone even but his frustration must have slipped through as Celeborn merely nodded in agreement and replied levelly, "I believe the best place for you to 'catch me up to speed', as you will, is at the gazing gazebo." He did not need to mention that the gazebo was a favorite place to sit and look upon the beautiful waters of the Golden River.

Glorfindel hesitated for a moment before nodding, gesturing for Celeborn to precede him. The two lords left for the gazebo knowing that their sharp sight and hearing would enable them to keep watch on Marcaunon - just in case.

ooo

Harry was sitting by a small stream that fed off of the Golden River, watching the colorful fish play and swim as his mind wandered back to his childhood. Despite everything, he had been doing well in containing the memories within the basilisk he had built into his occlumentic defenses. The most skilled in the mind arts succeeded in creating elaborate mindscapes in which they housed their memories, established mental defenses and offenses, and often sought succor within as they meditated. Because he had needed to look at each memory before he could safely put it where it belonged within his mind, Harry had not felt the need to look at the basilisk for a long time now. He had left it blind; that just seemed fitting, considering how blind everyone was to his childhood. He simply gave each memory to the basilisk to consume, allowing their pain and poison to make the basilisk progressively deadlier. The fact that she served as his best offensive mindweapon was no accident. One bite from her, and anyone invading his mind would be shrieking in horror and pain. The _only_ reason he had dealt with Galadriel differently was because he could tell that she was genuinely unaware of how vile her actions were.

Now, of course, he understood why she was so removed from the pain of her people. Still, he had scared her, and he definitely found that smirkworthy.

The smirk on his face faded as he heard once again a mental echo from his past. It was Thranduillion's fault. Hearing Legolas' father call him "BOY" in a voice and manner eerily similar to Vernon had triggered a wave of rage from deep within Harry's soul. He felt that the punishment meted out to the so-called 'king' was justified, and kinder than he deserved. In truth, he would have had no qualms about simply executing the bastard, but he wanted Thranduillion to suffer for his actions against his own son. Given what Harry knew about that type of person, it was a fair bet that Thranduillion's execution was not all that far off, and would be earned through the elf's own actions to regain power or control over Legolas – particularly considering the most recent events, which will have dramatically increased Legolas' desirability to the greedy ruler of the Mirkwood.

But that was the future. Right now, Harry was left to try to deal with the residue of rage and the memories it had summoned. He would have managed it, but the near-destruction of his family due to the Valar's ineptitude and the machinations of the goddess reminded him almost unbearably of Dumbledore as he played with lives as if it were all just a grand game for his amusement.

He had tried so very hard to contain his emotions and keep his mask firmly in place, but the rage and hatred shrieking from the memories of his past were overwhelming him. He _had_ to take some time to meditate and occlude again, for everyone's sake. His _**herven**_ had wanted to protest when Harry asked to be alone for a while, but could not resist the pleading eyes Harry had turned upon him. When Glory relented, albeit unhappily, Harry had suggested he take time with Celeborn to ensure the Lord was up to speed on all that had been and would be happening. He hoped they might also devise tentative plans for group discussion. He felt badly about the fact that he had to deny his Glorious mate's protectiveness over Harry this one time, but there was no enemy to fight here, except the demons that dug festering wounds into his soul. No matter how much Glory wanted to help, these were enemies that could only be defeated from within, by the strength of one's own will. He had spoken the truth, though, when he reassured his _**herven**_ that the elf's love and care gave him sharper weapons against the darkness within.

And so, Harry sat on the riverbank, lost in painful memories, until he heard a twig deliberately being cracked beneath a careful foot and sensed someone silently sitting down next to him. Even without his ability to sense auras, Harry would have known his companion was his youngest (figuratively) brother, Legolas.

Neither looked at the other. Instead, they sat in silence together for several moments, gazing meditatively at the water. Eventually, Harry offered a quiet greeting.

"**Le suillon**, Legolas."

"**Le suillon**, Marcaunon."

"**Man mathach?** Any unanticipated problems?" Harry asked, concerned for the young elf.

"Better than I had anticipated, truthfully," came the wry response. Legolas' eyes remained fixed on the hypnotic rush of water.

"And have you had your talk with Celeborn yet?"

"**Lau**. Not yet, my mates have been quite – adamant - about staying near me," Legolas replied with a small blush.

Harry chuckled a bit. "I can well imagine. It seems since you first caught sight of us, your life has been pure turmoil." The chuckle was belied by the somber look in the emerald eyes that glanced over to him.

"Harry … I regret nothing. I have never been happier than I am at this moment. I am blessed to have you all in my life." Legolas' earnestness was almost painfully sincere, and a deep knot of guilt began to untwist within Harry. Although …

"Legolas, my brother. We are blessed to have you, as well. I feel badly for our actions; we had no sooner pledged to welcome and protect you as a brother than we hurt your feelings. I am so sorry, Legolas. We …**I…** never meant to cause you distress when we stayed out your first night. We were thoughtless and foolish. Neither had we known about, nor even considered, the flaw in the Valar's plans," Harry responded almost pleadingly, guilt and regret remaining heavy in his heart.

"Oh, Harry! Please, don't. It wasn't anyone's fault! I hold nothing against any of you, Marcaunon. Especially not the folly of the first night! Not even I am usually so sensitive; I can only think it was the newness of the bond and … well, just everything, all piled up and confusing me. I'm afraid you have discovered one of my worst failings; it is very hard for me to believe it when someone says they care about me and welcome me. But I swear I understood why you all stayed out, that you needed to ground yourself within the familiar once more. I had no valid reason to react as I did, but I couldn't seem to help it. My father has always said that my emotions are a weakness, a flaw. He was right, too. And now, with magic, I wish ….. no, I don't just _wish_, I _need _to be …. stronger," Legolas ended helplessly.

"You have it all confused, Legolas. Blame Thranduillion; I know I do!" Harry cast a sidelong glance at his companion, pleased at the quirk of lips that had been downturned and pinched together. "You are remarkably strong, Legolas, and quite brave, as well. Never doubt that. It took courage to join the Fellowship, and emotional strength to carry on when the hobbits had been taken. It took a strong heart and sense of self for the Elven son of the most bigoted 'king' around to befriend and bond with a Dwarf. It took an amazing feat of personal strength to stand firm when facing your former father, and to not waiver when the barbs in his insults scraped over some of your private fears. And the very idea of you thinking less of yourself for the role you held in an upside-down bond shocks me. Not being able to withstand all the power being sent into you was **most emphatically** not your fault. That was lack of thought on the part off the Valar themselves. If you question yourself about that, then you must also question the gods. Actually, question them first; they deserve it. Legolas, the fact that you are handling the situation quite well and not freaking out proves your strength of character," Harry told him, looking the elf straight in the eye. His voice was quiet and powerful, and the look on his face was purest respect.

Legolas was beginning to understand the devotion his mates felt for this young man. Beyond Harry's obvious strength and prowess, beneath the exterior that changed to reflect the situation, was a heart of pure love and sincerity and honor. Legolas could well understand why his mates reacted as they did to a simple word of praise from the emerald-eyed Istari.

Lost in thought, they again lapsed into silence. Although Harry would like to have labeled his thoughts as contemplative, he was certain it was closer to brooding as he once again wrestled with memories from childhood. Legolas, too, was struggling with those issues, and was debating about talking to his 'older' brother' about their childhoods and their magic. He knew from Ithilwen's tale that Marcaunon's abuse had been extensive. For the most part, Legolas had dealt with a plethora of verbal abuse, mostly degenerating to the odd slap here and there on 'special' occasions. It was only as Legolas got older that the slaps turned to closed-fist assaults, given from Thranduillion anytime the elf realized that Legolas saw him clearly and did not like what he saw.

"Marcaunon?" he finally ventured hesitantly.

"Yes, Legolas?" Harry's immediate response gave Legolas courage.

"In your opinion, why do people – especially caregivers – abuse children and people like us?" Legolas asked, expertly skipping a stone across the dancing water. He figured he would get through the hardest part first.

There was a stretch of silence and Legolas feared Marcaunon wouldn't answer. He was slowly learning, however, that Marcaunon would always answer, even if it was only to explain why he could not.

"There are a lot of theories about abuse. Some say that abusers are just continuing a pattern their own parents started. Some say it's about power, or poor self-image, or fear. I'm not sure what I believe in general, although maybe Thranduillion was intimidated by your pure soul. You have the capacity to capture the love of the people, something I doubt that bastard ever had. People would accept your rule because they love you and you love them. That would definitely give you the ability to usurp Thranduillion, especially since he had to name you his heir because of his so-called 'kingliness'. A Lord has the right to pass power and authority down through his own blood without regard for who is most directly-related, or through another qualification he deems vital – like honor. Because of that, he doesn't actually have to name an heir; he can just name the guidelines and rules by which a group of electors would select his successor. But a king has no choice; his heir is his nearest blood relative. So, there you were – perfect, and his heir by his own law. He had to keep you oppressed, or you would have seized the throne sooner rather than later." He saw out of the corner of his eye Legolas' move of denial, and answered the unspoken rebuttal, "And you would have. If you saw him mistreating his people, you would have taken the throne regardless of whether or not you wanted it." He smiled slightly as Legolas glared out over the water, admitting at least to himself that Harry was right.

"He probably also saw you as a tool, maybe a means to political or financial power. The one thing he never saw you as, and please know I am not trying to hurt you, little brother, is his son. He didn't _want_a son, because having a child makes a person the older generation. For a conceited dick like Thranduillion, you basically represented everything that could take away his power, wealth, status and authority."

Legolas was openly staring at Harry now, fascinated at the glimpse into a powerful intellect that was often missed beneath the flashier aspects of Harry's persona. Unruffled by his inspection, Harry simply continued his train of thought. "As for why I was abused, I could give a bunch of reasons, and they would all be right, and they would all be wrong. I think the vaguest but most correct answer is the one that fits – I had to become a certain type of person, to fulfill the prophecies made about me. I wouldn't have done that if I'd been treated well or honorably by most people. In the end, as the song goes, **'though I may not know the answers, I can finally say I'm free, and if the questions lead me here, then I am who I was born to be'**."

Once again, Legolas was speechless, lost in admiration over this remarkable man. Eventually, he shook himself out of his contemplation and asked quietly, "Does it get easier?"

Harry's smile was slightly bitter, but comforting in its honesty. "In time and with love, yes. But, occasionally, there are moments when it comes back."

"Is this one of those times?"

After a long, tightly-constrained sigh, "Yeah."

Legolas stared at the grass Harry was picking and tearing apart restlessly, feeling a strong affinity for the quiet young man sitting next to him. He had probably personally devastated an entire field of grass throughout his own lifetime of nervous plucking and shredding. "Am I disturbing you, Harry? Would you prefer to be alone right now?"

"No, Legolas; it's fine. It's true I sought solitude, but I always have time for family."

Legolas nodded slightly, trying to accustom himself to that concept. Celeborn had expressed it several times. His mates said it constantly. Gimli, naturally, had proven it to him time and again. And now, Harry was saying it, as matter-of-factly as he had discussed his own abuse. For some reason, it was Harry who made him believe it. "Could I talk with you again, sometime, if I have one of those times when it comes back hard?"

The reply was simple and immediate, and immensely believable. "Of course, little brother."

"I need to work with you and Ithilwen and the others, too, with my powers. I know much already, and I have you to thank for that." He grinned at Harry's offhand wave of dismissal, as if the man had not actually challenged the gods on behalf of an elf he barely knew. "I do, however, think I need some training with regard to how to fit my abilities into a battle scenario."

Harry glanced around them, looking oddly alert for some reason, then said teasingly, "I would be honored, Legolas, but for now you had best go find those Devils. Considering the state I last saw them, they will be out for vengeance. Lothlorien has survived millennia, but I'm not sure it will survive the Devils in a fit of pique. If it goes too long, I would expect the Golden Woods to, at the very least, become rainbow-colored."

Legolas chuckled and rose to his feet, dusting off his hands and the seat of his leggings as he waved an almost jaunty farewell to Harry and went off to find his mates. Once he was gone, Harry called out sardonically, "You can come out now, Glory and Celeborn."

Although Celeborn looked somewhat sheepish as they stepped out from the shadows of the trees in which they had been waiting, Glory merely moved forward swiftly to pull his beloved to his feet and hold him close. He would never be ashamed of his concern for his _**herven**_. Pulling back slightly, he inspected Harry's face carefully, looking for something he would not define. Finally, satisfied, he tugged his little mate back against his chest and held him close, looking out over the water.

Standing next to them, for some reason comfortable with these two even though he should have felt like the odd man out, Celeborn tossed a rock across the water and murmured thoughtfully, "Someday, Harry, I would like for you to sing that song for me."

Harry just nodded, and allowed the overwhelming reassurance of these two powerful elves to soothe the ragged remains of his anxiety.

ooooooooooooooooo

**THE WOLVEN AND THE ARCHIVIST**

As urged by Harry, Legolas was looking for his mates. He had just entered one of the little side gardens when he startled back at the sight of a huge black wolfhound trotting away with what seemed to be a fiendish grin. Furrowing his brow, Legolas walked cautiously in the opposite direction of the snickering dog to find his mates trussed up high in a tree. They were no longer wearing the baby-devil costumes, for which Legolas' nose was endlessly grateful. Their present attire wasn't a vast improvement visually, however.

There they were, two massive, masculine warrior wizards, suspended from the tree by impossibly fine golden threads and wearing pink and yellow tutus. Delicate, feminine little collars were chained around their necks, attached to little pink leashes tauntingly hooked over an open branch. Even his simple Elven sight allowed Legolas to see that it would be easier to take down the tree than to unhook a leash. On their muscular upper backs were dainty, glittering insect wings that fluttered frantically with their agitation. Their corded, muscular thighs were coated in lovely aqua glitter that sparkled lightly in the mid-day sun. From this angle, Legolas could look directly up their tutus, and, quite frankly, their massive packages clad in see-through pink lace was just horribly wrong in all possible ways. Not even Legolas was turned on.

Taking a moment to get his voice firmly under control, Legolas sternly controlled his urge to once again dissolve into hysterical giggles and, ignoring his mates' urgent head-shaking, questioned calmly, "Loves? Dare I ask….?"

Fred glared down at him and, judging by his clenched jaw muscles, seemed to be concentrating very hard on keeping his mouth closed. George's willpower was apparently weaker, as he couldn't contain himself and immediately began to sing in a sweet, childlike voice, "We are the fairies of the Woods! We spread our love around! And when we fly and flutter by, our shadows kiss the ground!"

Legolas stared in horrified fascination as the glittering wings began to buzz wildly, twirling his mates in an erratic, stomach-twisting pattern. All Legolas could think was that it was a good thing his mates were accustomed to daring aerial maneuvers, or Legolas would even now be decorated with the remnants of their breakfasts.

Once they had settled into a flat hover, Legolas allowed his gaze to return to them as he said with careful control over his quavering voice, "I'm fairly certain I know how to fix this, but I need to make sure I don't make it worse. Wait until I find some witnesses – I mean, help! – preferably, help who can use that memory-projection spell from this morning!" he muttered to himself, before smiling encouragingly up at the lace-covered genitals and chirped, "I won't be long! Um …. Hee-hee-hee! I'm sorry, loves, but – HANG IN THERE!"

Ignoring their frantic gestures –Who knew? The middle finger thing was universal, apparently! - and renewed aerial hysteria, Legolas turned on his heel and marched away, forcefully controlling his own giggles until he was far enough away to laugh freely.

ooo

Remus's first experience in Celeborn's library had only whetted his appetite for the magnificent place. Despite his concerns over Harry, Remus had sternly ordered himself to trust his son's care to Glorfindel and sent himself back to the library rather than remain in the area and risk surrendering to his own parental urges. Certainly, he would continue to be needed as his children's father, but Glorfindel was Harry's mate, and there simply could not be a more dedicated and loving person for Remus's emerald-eyed son than the ancient warrior.

Turning his thoughts to the library that awaited him, Remus's anticipation rose the closer he got. Although he had learned much of Middle Earth's history from his cubs during the week before their departure, their summary could not possibly cover the depth and breadth of the rich vitality of several millennia worth of various races interacting on this strikingly beautiful world. Besides, any bibliophile knows that there is just something special about reading history from a book or a scroll written from someone's personal perspective.

In his hurry, Remus barreled right into the small figure he saw just a moment too late, although his quick reactions did allow him to catch the person and control the fall to the ground. Briefly pausing to process what had happened, Remus found himself slowly and appreciatively appraising the absolutely exquisite elf who sprawled gracefully on the grass at his feet. The dark-haired beauty on the ground before him was a small, delicate-looking male with beautiful, catlike, violet eyes and rosy pink cheeks. Remus stared until the remarkable eyes gained a slightly embarrassed look and dropped somewhat shyly, causing Remus's eyes to follow the violet gaze downward. That was when the wolven's amber gaze focused intently on the delectable mouth with the most tempting bottom lip Remus had ever seen or imagined. White teeth nibbled nervously on that lip, finally waking Remus from his daze and causing him to offer a strong, gentlemanly hand to assist the siren to his feet.

Rising gracefully with Remus's aid, the elf standing in front of him barely reached the bottom of Remus's jaw. His delicate figure and delicious scent were sending Moony into overdrive. 'Down, boy!' Remus sternly ordered his wolf, and turned his full attention on the vision before him.

"I am terribly sorry about that," Remus apologized. "I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you all right?" He couldn't help but smile at the ruffled look of irritation the delightful little elf wore.

Having forced his rampant blush to recede, the elf frowned up at him and answered with a hint of annoyance in his smooth, musical voice, "I am fine, thank you. I wasn't precisely watching my own path, either. If you'll excuse me? Have a pleasant day." It was clear from his dismissive tone that the little elf was now done with this encounter.

Unfortunately for him, Remus was not. More important, neither was Moony. He stepped easily into the elf's path, again stopping him, albeit not quite so profoundly this second time. Undeterred by the irritated glare aimed up at him, Remus smiled charmingly down into the lovely face and watched an unwilling flush rise in the porcelain cheeks. "My name is Remus Lupin. I'm one of the new arrivals. Perhaps I can escort you to your destination?"

Violet-blue eyes stared coldly at him, in determined denial of the blush coloring his cheeks. After several seconds of silence in which Remus made it clear with his smiling patience that he was not going to step aside, the little elf huffed in irritation and said sharply, "My name is Erestor. I'm Lord Elrond's archivist and assistant at Rivendell. And I am quite familiar with Lothlorien and do not require an escort."

His coldness had no impact at all on the charming, amber-eyed Istari smiling at him. 'How was that possible?' Erestor huffed to himself. He could scare any elf with just a glance, and yet here was a _human_ who wasn't in the least intimidated.

Remus's smile broadened in amusement as he asked, "I didn't presume you _needed_ one. I merely asked if I could serve as one. If you don't mind, may I ask where you were heading?"

"You may," Erestor answered coolly, violet eyes openly assessing the unusual man standing in his way.

Remus laughed - a true, free, appreciative laugh - and asked agreeably, "And where were you heading, my dear Erestor?"

Cursing the fact that he had blushed again at the endearment, Erestor replied shortly, "To the library. Now excuse me." He moved to step around the tawny-haired man and almost stamped his foot in aggravation when Remus simply turned to walk alongside, offering his arm in the manner of a true gentleman despite Erestor's petulance.

"It seems we were destined to meet today, lovely Erestor. I was returning to the library when we collided. Although I'm delighted at the new acquaintanceship, I would have chosen a less forceful introduction for your sake, had I only known," Remus smiled, tilting his head downward to look more fully into the lovely face that tipped up at him curiously.

After a few paces, Erestor grudgingly accepted Remus's arm, stating sharply, "I have come to the conclusion that it is better to work with you and keep my balance."

He was at a loss for a snappy retort when Remus replied with delicate threat, "I assure you, little one, I will be doing my level best to keep you as off-balance as possible."

Erestor finally settled for ignoring the last comment, and instead asked why Remus was going to the library in the first place. They began a light discussion about their mutual scholarly interests. Remus's passion for history surprised Erestor, a fact which amused Remus, which in turn flustered Erestor. Remus watched with delight as an increasingly flushed Erestor stammered, "It wasn't an insult to your intellect; it's just that most people who profess an interest in me aren't of a scholarly mind… Not that you've said you're interested in me, of course … Not that I'm hinting I want you to be, or that I am … you …. It … I …. w-we …!" He finally stuttered to a halt when Remus suddenly loomed close to him, faces mere inches apart, and lowered his head to press his mouth to a delicate, leaf-shaped ear and whisper, "I am most definitely interested in you, beautiful little scholar. And you…," he dropped a tiny kiss on the shell of Erestor's ear, "… are definitely….," this time a longer kiss was pressed to the delicate jaw, "… delightfully …," now a gentle, sweet kiss in the corner of Erestor's tempting mouth, "… off-balance!" he ended huskily, staring directly down into wide, violet eyes and savoring the lightly increased breathing and gently parted mouth. Remus lowered his head slowly, giving Erestor enough time to back away. Instead, the delectable little face tilted upwards slightly, lifting to meet him with the barest brush of lips before …

"PAPA REMY!"

Erestor startled back, quickly retreating a few steps and looking somewhat shaken at his own, out of character behavior. After a moment, he turned and glared up at the handsome, tawny man who was watching a younger elf approach and said accusingly, "_Papa_ Remy, is it?"

He wasn't prepared for the dashing grin Remus sent over to him, nor for the strong arm that reached over to wrap around his slim shoulders and draw him closely against a warm, powerful body. Erestor was once again at a momentary loss for words, surprised at the way the odd, casual clothing disguised the man's muscular build. Remus simply dropped a quick kiss on the tip of Erestor's nose and said gently, "I am not mated – yet. Legolas is one of the children of my heart and my pack. He is my cub."

Erestor then recognized the elf who had called out to his bewildering companion and flushed fiercely to be found in this compromising position. He was grateful to Legolas for his discretion when the younger elf merely nodded a greeting to him before turning fully to Remus and hurriedly explaining.

It sounded like complete gobbledegook to Erestor, but to his surprise, Remus merely nodded resignedly, an amused smile quirking the sensuous lips, and asked, "Would you like to accompany us to rescue my cubs? I promise, it's a sight you won't soon forget!"

Nodding a befuddled agreement, Erestor frowned slightly as he asked about the term Remus had used. "Cub?"

Remus smiled gently down at him, and again pressed a kiss upon Erestor, this time on the frown line between his eyebrows. He seemed completely unconcerned with the proprieties of the situation. "Ahh, well, as you may or may not know, we who have recently arrived to Lothlorien are all Istari, and we are all shape-changers, although I also carry some of the living spirit and character of the animal I change into. If you're ever accosted by a very friendly, handsome timber wolf, don't be afraid, it's just me as Moony. You'll be able to tell because of my eyes; the eyes of an animagus – shapechanger – do not change significantly from one form to the other."

He nodded approvingly as Erestor quoted as if to himself, "I thought to flee, but my fears o'erthrow, as 'twas true 'tis the eyes that carry the soul."

As if they had all the time in the world, Remus shifted his weight comfortably, somehow luring Erestor to lean even more daringly against the strong body. He looked thoughtful for a moment, as if searching his memory, then said, "On my home world, there is an expression that 'the eyes are the windows to the soul'. I have not been on Arda long enough to read much of native literature; is what you quoted a well-known expression? You said it with marked feeling, as if it were deeply personal to you." Sharp amber eyes watched him, noting every miniscule sign that betrayed Erestor's discomfiture.

Briefly struggling to regain his balance despite Remus' polite refusal to release him, he avoided Remus's knowing gleam and muttered irritably, "Yes, yes, I understand. Off-balance." He glared upward at the charming smile, just _certain_ that there was a wealth of smugness hidden behind it, and snapped, "The idea is probably commonly held, but the quote was from my own writings. Satisfied?"

Remus leaned down, his masculinity very pronounced as his soft shirt tightened around surprising biceps and strong shoulders. Amber eyes looked smilingly into violet as Remus growled gently, "Satisfied? Not even close, little archivist, but it is definitely one of my dearest goals." He rewarded Erestor's increased breathing and dilated eyes with another, teasing kiss on the corner of that tempting mouth before straightening to his full height and returning to the original question. "Because of my wolf, I call the children of my heart 'my cubs'. My heart-brother, who changes into a large wolfhound, calls them his pups."

Urging them back onto the path, he allowed Erestor to walk along in silence for several paces, none of them hurrying to go to the twins' rescue. In fact, Legolas seemed to be deliberately strolling slowly, as if relishing the delay. At Remus's inquiring brow, he said only, "I am not in the mood for a prank war today. Perhaps this will teach them a lesson." He grinned at Remus's hearty laughter.

Wrapped within Remus's sheltering arm and willfully ignoring his own bewildering behavior, Erestor spoke up. "But why is Legolas your 'cub'?"

Remus smiled proudly at the now delicately-flushing Legolas. "This handsome young elf is mated to my twin cubs and is therefore also my cub," Remus explained as they reached Legolas. "Where are they, cub?"

Legolas merely pointed up in the tree where the Devils were still suspended, looking remarkably like Vikings in drag, and said with deadpan irony, "They're my mates. I'm so very proud. Really."

Following the pointing finger upward, Erestor's mouth dropped open in shocked revulsion, before the humor of the situation began to seize him and he clenched his jaw firmly against the fist he pressed against it.

Remus had no such reservations, uttering a bark of laughter as he gazed upward. His inevitable question was halted, however, when Legolas leaped towards him and pressed a strong hand firmly against his mouth as he glared at Remus and hissed threateningly, "You don't want to do that. I don't want you to do that. Do NOT ask them a thing. Just please can you undo it? I was willing to try, but I'm tired and want a nap very badly and I'm frankly a bit annoyed by this whole situation."

Smirking in pride at the show of assertion by Legolas, Remus simply nodded and began flicking his wand, easily undoing the spells and enchantments while mentally congratulating his marauder brother. Really, this was truly one of his better pranks, although this morning's was pensieve-worthy. As he dismantled the spellwork, Remus was very aware of his violet-eyed beauty's close attention and wide-eyed wonder.

Nicely nude and glitter-free, the twins dropped to their feet as their wings disappeared. Erestor stared, open-mouthed, at the naked masculinity standing with double the visual joy right in front of him. "Thanks, Moony!" Sidhenidon yelled out before scooping Legolas into his arms. Eredhion looked Erestor up and down before winking at the delicate elf and saying cheekily to his father, "Definitely a keeper, Papa! Have fun!" before the energetic duo, exasperated elf firmly in hand, raced back to their talan.

Chuckling, Remus watched them in amusement as he genially muttered, "Cubs!" Watching him, Erestor gulped as the tawny-eyed man suddenly turned and captured him in a sharp, amber stare. "So, you got an appreciative eyeful of my nicely naked twins, lovely one. And I notice you did not look away." He smiled predatorily down at the now flushed and stuttering Erestor, who finally huffed indignantly and snapped, "I have every right to look when an attractive naked man appears in front of me! I defy you not to do the same!"

He sputtered into silence when the gleaming-eyed wolven gave him a heated appraisal and asked temptingly, "Is that an offer? Because, I assure you, lovely elf, I would not be turning you down, nor would I be looking away."

Unable to summon a suitably scathing answer, Erestor simply lifted his chin haughtily and turned hurriedly back toward the library. He did not object when Remus once again tugged him against his side and wrapped a warm, strong arm around his shoulder as they walked together. They were almost at the Library when Remus asked casually, "So, who are the two elves following you?"

Erestor stumbled slightly and asked suspiciously, "Following me?"

"Mmm-hmmm. They're staying in the branches for the most part. They have a different base layer scent but identical core scent. Must be twins, like my devils, although the verdancy of their scent definitely declares them as elven," Remus explained, discreetly sniffing the air.

Despite being fascinated and deeply impressed with the information Remus had just provided about his own abilities, Erestor still glowered as he bit out with deep sarcasm, "Perfect. How delightful. They are Lord Elrond's twins, the Rivendell Pranksters. I told Celeborn that I didn't need guards! I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. One stalker king, and suddenly I have dozens of big brothers everywhere. It would have been more useful when I was avoiding the vigorous attentions of the scouts when they decided I needed to toughen up and learn hand-to-hand combat through the joy of ambush."

Remus looked darkly down at the grumbling beauty on his arm, but decided to wait a little before getting the entire story from the skilled Elven bodyguards currently slipping through the treetops. Apart from planning a few memorable lessons for the scouts in question, if Erestor was in danger, Remus wanted to know about it. He needed to be certain he killed the correct person, after all.

It didn't even occur to him to question his sudden, fierce protectiveness. He and Moony were in complete agreement: Erestor was theirs. The courting was only a formality – a delightful one, but not crucial to the inevitable conclusion. Long courtship, or none at all – Erestor was now Remus's to protect.

The mystery stalker would soon learn that truth the hard way.

As would the scouts.

oooooooooooooooooooo

**GETTING SIRIUS**

A guffawing Sirius stumbled back to his lodging, wiping gleeful tears from his eyes. He had truly outdone himself today! Even better, little Legolas had dissolved into laughter twice that he knew of, and all due to Sirius's efforts. If there was one truism by which Sirius lived, it would be: 'If you can laugh, you'll live.'

More than once, that was all that had kept Sirius alive, one painful, wrenching chuckle at a time.

Even as he chortled, Sirius once again found his thoughts wandering to the handsome, dignified Lord Celeborn. He could not help it; the Elven Lord drew him in every possible way. Out of respect for the tremendous changes happening in the Lord's life, Sirius had tried very hard to curb his desires. Despite his near-voyeuristic guarding of the night before, Sirius had no intention of being one of the inevitable string of lovers that Celeborn was sure to have, now that he was freed of old Glady's choke-chain.

Given what he had learned of the half-elleth, Sirius refused to grant the former Lady the respect of a name that meant 'maiden crowned by a radiant garland'. That bitch was no freaking maiden, and the only thing she deserved to be crowned by was a lot blunter and heavier than a 'radiant garland'! No, 'old Gladys' would do nicely, if he had to refer to her at all.

From what he had heard about old Gladys the Goddess, Sirius felt even more respect for the person he knew Celeborn to be. By every account, the Elven Lord had earned his right to sow wild oats, even during his marriage and most certainly now that it was over. He had learned that, despite Gladys's blatant promiscuity, Celeborn had only very rarely taken lovers and had always been honorable and honest with those few who graced his bed. In another lifetime, Sirius would have immediately met the handsome Lord's interested appraisal with a bawdy tumble and at least a few wild nights.

But not now. Not when Sirius felt a much more profound interest dawning within himself for the Elf he had met just two days ago. How was this even possible? From the stories of all the other family members – 'istaris', he chuckled wryly – who had arrived no more than two weeks ago, every single one of them had gone from zero to mated with the speed of fiendfyre! Merlin, Sirius was even dreaming about Celeborn – dreams that had him waking up sticky and uncomfortable and glad he could cast scourgify now, as opposed to his fourteen-year-old self who could not do magic outside of school and was left to the mercy of Kreacher, who reported every sticky emission to the insane Walburga. _Those_ were some memories he really wished the Dementors _had_ managed to purge.

Fucking perverts. An entire species who lived by voyeurism, spending most of their time picking through – not the 'happy' memories that prick Dumbledore had proclaimed was their preference – but the memories of sex, the dirtier the better. They were disgusting creatures, unable to get their own hard-ons so they mind-raped humans and stole theirs. He could just imagine what one of them would do with the memory of Sirius's actions last night, while he peeked unwillingly and guarded the sensual healing that Haldir and Luna had so lovingly coaxed from Celeborn.

Mumbling to himself, exasperated at his inability to stay focused on anything other than the handsome Lord of Lothlorien, Sirius suddenly found himself tripping over … nothing? … and landing forcefully in the very strong arms of the subject of his recent wet dreams.

Staring in complete shock at the masculine, handsome face mere inches from his own, Sirius Black watched Celeborn's expression turn distinctly wicked and felt a strong hand stroke through his hair and firmly clasp the back of his head. His thoughts went completely blank as Celeborn's hand guided Sirius's head to tilt slightly before gentling in the black and silver tresses. Without sparing a single thought for his recent certainty that he would not simply dally with the sexy Elven Lord, Sirius only managed a needy whimper as he was pulled firmly against a lightly-sculpted, powerful chest and his mouth was taken expertly by the warm, mobile, talented lips and tongue of Lord Celeborn of the Golden Woods.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**AGLAR HERVEN**

Celeborn walked with Harry and Glory as far as the Gazing Gazebo, before he ventured on in search of someone that brought a delightful smile of anticipation to the Lord's normally reserved face. As soon as Celeborn left Harry and Glory alone, Glorfindel had wrapped his arms around his headstrong mate, sighing in fond exasperation as he rested his chin on the wild, black hair.

"Why,_**herven**_, do you insist on doing things alone? If you had truly wanted to be alone, I would have given that to you without argument. You forget our bond, beloved; I know full well you did not want solitude, but rather silence. I would have gladly sat with you and held you, or simply kept you company, while you worked through your troubled thoughts, _**tithen pen**_. _**Le melon, herven.**__**Le melon!**_There is no reason that you need to do it all alone," Glorfindel pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's brow, holding him closely and willing his own warmth into the slightly-shivering body in his arms.

Harry buried his face beneath Glorfindel's chin, snuffling against the warm skin and allowing the familiar scent of the deepest forest and clean, cool air that to him would forever mean _Glorfindel_ to soothe and comfort him. They stood in comfortable silence, soaking in each other's warmth and love while Glorfindel's strong, gentle hands rubbed soothing patterns across Harry's toned back. The elf concentrated on sending loving, healing comfort through his hands, hoping to ease the phantom pains that doubtless still troubled his little warrior through the myriad scars that riddled and marked his beautiful back. Glorfindel knew full well that recent events had stirred Harry's oldest, darkest memories, and his soul raged against those vile people who had tortured and tormented a small, innocent child in the name of 'normalcy'. Stroking patiently against the shudders that plagued his beloved, Glorfindel decided to take advantage of Ragnok's offer of aid. He was going to send the vicious warriors who called Harry their Lord against the Dursleys.

He was certain, given even a brief explanation for his request, that their vengeance would be beautiful.

Lost in dark thoughts, Glorfindel blinked when Harry finally stirred and spoke. "You're right, Glory. I'm sorry. I'm just not used to letting anyone near when I get like that. I always kept even the twins and Luna-girl away. I couldn't be sure that I wouldn't lash out from a memory, and as close as we are, they wouldn't know what to do. I didn't take our bond into account, _**mi aglar herven**__. _I'm just very accustomed to doing things – especially the deeply personal things - on my own."

He peeked up through his thick black lashes at his gloriously masculine husband, as always finding himself distracted by the strength of his attraction to Glorfindel even as he tried to stay mentally on track. He saw the upward quirk of one sensuous, delicious-looking lip as Glorfindel caught the sensuality slipping through their bond, and dropped his gaze determinedly so he could finish their conversation.

"I do want you with me, Glory, especially during the times when I try hardest to push you away. It's just habit; a pure, knee-jerk reaction to protect the people I love most from what scares me the most – my memories and, if I'm being honest, myself. I have enough darkness and power living together within me to do some major damage if I don't keep a balance, Glory. I know you've seen that. I _know_ that I need your help, _**mi herven.**_I just forget to ask, or even that I _can_ ask. Merlin, even when I found my family, I was still the one leading, the one making the decisions. I'm not used to this, to having someone I can depend upon so completely. It's a pure wonder to me, that my mate has such a rich personal history and is such a powerful person that he can do more than just help me through some of the hard times, but can carry me through it if I need it or ask. Gods, Glory, just knowing you're still here, that you haven't left me and that you still love me no matter what you learn about me helps me to overcome my demons." His eyes were wet as Harry pressed against his husband, allowing himself to cling a little even as his Demon persona scoffed at the weakness. Burrowing more comfortably into the warm, musky skin of Glorfindel's neck, Harry mentally flipped Demon off and closed his eyes to savor the safety and protectiveness of the moment.

"You know that I understand, _**tithen pen**_. I don't need an apology from you; only your promise to keep trying to let me in, and your forgiveness, because I promise you that I will force myself in if you close up again. I will never forget that you had been so alone, beloved, but you must remember that such is no longer the case," Glory murmured tenderly against the silky hair. "Promise me that you won't intentionally shut me out, and that if you do, you will forgive me when I tear down the walls to get to you." His tone, while gentle, was uncompromising. Glorfindel truly did understand all of the twists and turns that complicated Marcaunon's actions and choices, but he was not giving any ground on this issue. He would not allow his mate to hide from him.

In later years, they would remember this as one of the defining moments of their bondhood and marriage. This was perhaps the first time that Glorfindel had deliberately flexed his muscles as the dominant in their mating. He would not allow his _**herven**_ to choose when Glory would be in his life and when he would not, and he would not grant his beloved a loophole through which Marcaunon might excuse his instinctive avoidance of others when emotions grew intense. Despite his tenderness and love for his little mate, Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower was the singlemost revered warrior of the People and First Commander of the Elven Forces. He was, in every way, a dominant male. This was one of the times when, despite his own power and authority, Harry would have to learn and accept the fact that, in this marriage, Glorfindel was unquestionably alpha.

Harry was silent for several heartbeats, struggling between his automatic rebellion against being told what to do and his instinctive desire to, as Remy might say, show throat and submit. He felt a growl low in his throat, a desire to challenge Glorfindel for dominance, which was promptly silenced when the gentle hand on his back seized his hair in a tight grip and pulled backward, forcing Harry to expose his throat to a heated, hazel gaze. He struggled against the implacable hold, feeling terribly vulnerable and, to his own horror, increasingly aroused. Glorfindel kept him immobile, refusing to soften his grip or his attitude, and watched impassively as his young mate's learned behavior battled against his deepest instincts. Only when Harry finally submitted, dropping his hands back onto Glorfindel's chest and trying to relax despite his own sense of desperate vulnerability, did Glorfindel soften. The golden-haired warrior lowered his head and nuzzled gently, approvingly, against his smaller mate's face, purring reassuringly, before dropping lower and licking a long, sensuous path over the exposed throat and vulnerable trachea and artery. Feeling Harry sigh and lean into the caress, Glorfindel immediately rewarded his little mate by relaxing his grip on the beautiful hair and soothingly massaging the bruised scalp, coasting long swipes of his tongue and soft, sucking kisses over the sensitive skin of a pale, trembling throat. They had made progress today, and both deserved a reward.

Not resisting as he was lowered onto the cool stone floor of the gazebo, surrounded and hidden by a tall carpet of long stalks of sweetgrass and delicate wildflowers, Harry shivered as his clothes were gently removed by his hazel-eyed mate and tried to give voice to his worries. "I will try, Glory, you know I will. But I may need prodding sometimes," Harry confessed, burying his head deeper in his mate's chest. He willingly acceded to his strong mate's every direction and caress, whimpering at the hot suction of his nipples and moaning into the skilled fingers that stretched him and caused shocks of pleasure to flash through his undulating, naked body. Glorfindel hovered over Harry, strong arms resting on either side of his little mate's tousled head, and grinned wickedly down into the adorable, flushed face, watching intently as sharp, white teeth nibbled a plump bottom lip as Harry tried to contain a mewl of need. Seizing Harry's mouth with his own and sending his tongue sweeping inside, dueling the tongue that met his and defeating it easily, Glorfindel ran his silken-steel erection between Harry's buttocks and positioned the drooling tip directly on his beloved's slightly-stretched, needy rosebud. With another wicked grin at his emerald-eyed mate, Glorfindel said with mocking chivalry, "Allow me, beloved. Prepare to be prodded!" and plunged his huge, hard, weeping cock forcefully into his mate's body. Feeling the tight heat stretch around him, he did not slow or pause for Harry to adjust, even as his little mate arched his back in an urgent attempt to do so. Instead, he sent himself deep into the passage that belonged to him only and did not stop until his heavy sac was resting snugly against his mate's buttocks. He felt Harry's ecstasy through the bond, and knew that his own dominance and the slight pain he had given his mate upon his forceful entrance deep within the body he cherished had heightened Harry's arousal almost unbearably. Such was the nature of a dominance-mating, which is precisely what these moments were. There were other times for making love, for tenderness and patience and long, slow torment. They were not now.

This was a dominant mate claiming his submissive, no matter how much Marcaunon might squirm away from the term itself as applied to him.

This was about ownership and control.

Thrusting hard into the beautiful body that bowed and flexed beneath him, ecstatic words of love and praise and submission pouring from that perfect mouth beneath his own, Glorfindel did not coax his mate to fulfillment. He seized his mate, and forced orgasm upon him.

And then he did it again.

And once again.

Finally, when Harry's exhausted, trembling body lay limp and shivering beneath his own, when the only tension remaining in that lovely, submissive form was in the beautiful cock that gave in to the last bit of climactic pleasure that Glorfindel demanded as his final tithe to the truest nature of their bond, only then did Glorfindel allow himself to tip over the edge along with his wrung-out mate and carry him protectively through Harry's last orgasm of the day while the powerful ecstasy that seized the warrior elf sent him into repeated, intense spasms of liquid pleasure that pulsed deep within his little mate's body and triumphantly established dominance.

Too exhausted to move, Harry did not dare to – nor care to – contest the claim.

ooooooooooooooooooo

**ASYLUM OR EXODUS?**

Deep in the night, when the sky was so black it could have been velvet and decorated with a brilliant dusting of stars that would have done any diamond proud, Harry pulled his exhausted body from the protective arms of his mate and slipped out of their bed. He could have summoned water, but the quivering in his muscles had caused a leg cramp and he resigned himself to walking it off while finding something to soothe his parched throat. Glancing fondly down at the sleeping form of his beloved warrior, Harry tried to keep his own erotic respect from leaking down the bond. Honestly, the elf was quite arrogant enough without knowing for certain how thoroughly he had established his claim on Harry!

Slowly pacing to stretch out his leg muscles, Harry spotted several pieces of correspondence on the dresser and suddenly recalled the unopened letters that had crossed the portal with Sirius and Remus. Momentarily indecisive, he finally sighed in resignation and decided that it wouldn't hurt to open them now; he was already feeling quite awake.

Sitting at Glorfindel's desk, Harry cracked the seals and read the letters one by one. Several minutes later saw him still sitting at the desk, staring in shock at the letters now open and spread out on the desk top like so many supplicants.

The first was from the Lost Tribe, specifically from Ragnok, answering the questions he and his family had asked and providing a list of questions and concerns for Harry to consider in turn.

The next was a bit of a shock. It was written in the straightforward handwriting of his and his siblings' favorite professor, Pomona Sprout. She was asking after them, wondering if they were doing well and did they need anything. She hoped they would give her permission to visit, and if so, would they allow her to bring her apprentice, Neville Longbottom. She didn't say much about Longbottom, except to comment that he had suffered at the hands of the manipulative Order and its leader, adding that she wished that Longbottom had been less shy and had tried harder to talk with Harry. She noted that Longbottom had apparently looked up to him, and had shared long talks with her about their mutual desire to escape completely from the Wizarding World. They wished to talk with the Demon Team about the possibility of establishing something like a private island or isolated country for those who wished to start again someplace safe, to build a land worth living in and protecting.

The third letter was an even bigger shock for Harry. Of all possible people, it was from Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, asking for asylum from the Wizarding world. They explained that all neutral parties were being hounded and were probably going to be either forced to swear vows of obedience to the present Ministry or be arrested and sent to Azkaban as potential insurgents. They each swore on their magic and blood, with the strength of the vow echoing through the blood-drawn rune on the parchment, that they had never supported the Dark Lord, nor had they supported Dumbledore. All they had wanted was to live in peace and survive. Now, even those simple goals had become unlikely in the world of Terra, despite the massive political and economic work done by Harry's family to improve it. They also hinted that they knew of numerous others who would gladly join them, wherever shelter with Harry and the Demon Team was to be offered, and would lend their strengths to Harry's family in support of peace and safety and a chance to live free.

The fourth was a group effort. It was written primarily in the neat, precise handwriting of Irma Pince, the Hogwarts Librarian. She explained that she and 'some others' had heard whispers that Harry and his family may have found a place where simple, non-political magical people, be they squibs or creatures or full witches and wizards, could live and work together in relative peace. She briefly described her own wishes, and added that she and her 'beau' had been trying to escape from the control of Dumbledore and the Ministry for decades now, and while their world was improving for some, their own situation was growing ever more bleak. She asked Harry for help, and pledged any possible aid she and the other signers of this letter could offer in exchange. She did not plead, nor did the others. They just stated their cases, in a sort of last-ditch, hopeless effort that wrung his soul as he read it.

The other writers of the letter were just as surprising to Harry. Argus Filch, the dour, angry squib who served as Hogwarts' maintenance man, explained that he had been forcibly bound by the Ministry to the school because he had just enough magic as a squib to cause trouble if he left the Wizarding World. It was a lifetime of servitude at Hogwarts or be hunted as a fugitive until his magic was bound. His only comfort in his purgatory was his 'lady friend', Irma Pince.

The last writer of this group letter was the brusque, vigorous flying instructor, Rolanda Hooch. She declared that she was 'done' with the Wizarding World and power-hungry people. That Irma had urged her to put her bid in on this letter, but that either way, she was disappearing as soon as possible. If Harry had anything to offer, she would pay for it as best she could with her own abilities but refused to kiss his or anyone else's ass or to be told what she had to believe. If that was his goal, he could take a flying leap off the Astronomy Tower, without his broom.

Harry had to laugh that she signed her name "Respectfully, Rolanda Hooch." He appreciated the irony.

His shock must have travelled through their bond, as Harry felt his beloved's hand cupping his face, tilting it upward so that Harry could see the worried look marring Glorfindel's handsome face. He just stared back helplessly, gesturing vaguely at the letters, and shook his head in bewilderment as he sank willingly into Glorfindel's strong, comforting arms. Tucking his head firmly into 'his' spot beneath his warrior's chin, Harry closed his brilliant green eyes and sighed in resignation.

"**Why** is it **always** ME?"

oooooooooooooooooooo

**A/N: **By the way, I have a fic rec for you. I just discovered "The Truth of Blood" by Rokkis. It's a Harry Potter/True Blood slash with an unusual pairing. I asked her, and she told me she has five more chapters ready to publish, although further updates will be slow. I just really enjoyed the story, and her writing, and want to share it with y'all. Happy Reading!


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